


through the wheatfields and the coastlines

by thepolourryexpress



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Louis, Country Harry, Cowboy Harry, Farmer Harry, Fluff, Himbo Harry, Horseback Riding, Humor, IT'S NOT MY FAULT, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Lots of Dolly Parton, M/M, Politics - if you squint, Rimming, Smut, TikTok, Top Harry, Writer Louis, a little lamb named Winnie, if you fall in love with cowboy harry, implied/referenced gun use, lots of it!!!, that's a tag now!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepolourryexpress/pseuds/thepolourryexpress
Summary: “You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through.“I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions.”Or, alternatively, the one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 179
Kudos: 638
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020





	through the wheatfields and the coastlines

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t even begin to place into words how much this fic means to me. I am so excited to share this with everyone.
> 
> The majority of these places are real and/or modeled off of real places in Wyoming. For all intents and purposes, however, this is a work of fiction. Who knew my few years of living in Wyoming would lead me to writing this fic, hehe. 
> 
> Thank you to _everyone_ on Twitter and Tumblr who have cheered me on and interacted with all tweets/snippets regarding this story. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. 
> 
> Thank you to Emma [@alltheselightts](https://twitter.com/alltheselightts) and Miles [@smittenwlouis](https://twitter.com/smittenwlouis) for moderating this wonderful fest. I have never seen two people with as much passion and support for other people as you two do. You guys are amazing and I truly do appreciate every minute and ounce of effort you put into running this fest. [This](https://twitter.com/ZOUlSBUSONE/status/1315494919079952384?s=20) is also for Emma, hehe.
> 
> Thank you to Mar [@loubellies](https://twitter.com/loubellies) for helping me where my knowledge on yeehaw culture fails and relies on a singular scene from _Hope Floats_ , and for introducing me to Kat! I think I would’ve given up a long time ago if you hadn’t DM’d me. 
> 
> Lastly, a _huge_ thank you to Kat [@haddystan](https://twitter.com/haddystan) for supporting me and beta-ing this for me. I really don't think this fic would've been possible without you. I'm so lucky to have your support and friendship, and I am so, _so_ thankful for everything you do for me. I love you!!!
> 
> I hope you all fall in love with Cowboy Harry as much as I have. :')
> 
>  **Prompt 492:** Tired of the city and its boring routine, Louis decides to go a few weeks to his grandparents’ farm. There, he will seek quiet moments so that he can focus on the book he is writing. But all he finds is a curly young man who loves taking a little lamb for a walk.
> 
> & Here's the [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/254SL3sUmdVP5j7epMnwS7?si=IyciDeEuQii_98d_2RGXtg) playlist

Louis doesn’t remember his head hitting the table. More importantly, he doesn’t remember when he started _drooling_ in his sleep. 

“ _Again_? Louis, you need to get some fuckin’ sleep,” Zayn grunts when he finds Louis an hour later, slumped over their kitchen table with the blue light of his laptop reflecting over his skin. Zayn ignores the bleary-eyed and confused expression the boy gives him when he finally flickers his eyes open. “Go to _bed_. Just looking at you makes my back hurt.”

It takes Louis a second to decipher Zayn’s words, scrunching up his nose as he peels his cheek away from his forearm. He tries to ignore the drool as his skin stings, narrowing his eyes at Zayn. “I’m fine. I— I just need to finish this chapter,” Louis mumbles, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. 

“There’s nothing on this doc,” Zayn deadpans, and Louis jumps. When did Zayn walk over here? Did he fall asleep _again_ in those few seconds? 

Louis groans, “‘Cause I have to _write_ it.”

“Your computer’s on ten percent,” Zayn says, and just as Louis reaches for his laptop charger, Zayn’s grabbing his computer off of the desk and shaking his head. “Bed. _Now_.”

“I would never do this to you,” Louis whines. He feels like a petulant child, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows it’s a lie — he’s had to wrestle the paintbrush out of Zayn’s hand way too many times in the past. By the look Zayn gives him, Louis knows that Zayn very much doesn’t believe him either. But if you’re asking Louis, stopping Zayn from drinking toxic paint water is a lot more important than getting him to tear his eyes away from a computer screen that _might_ just make his eyes strain. 

“Just a few more words,” Louis begs sleepily.

Zayn doesn’t budge, though, and before Louis can blink twice, Zayn’s putting his computer away and coming back to drag him away from his desk. Zayn’s arms hook underneath Louis’ armpits moments later, and if Louis was less tired, he’d probably fight Zayn on this. He’s not a child, he can move himself to his room. 

“You’re better off sleeping on it, Lou,” Zayn sighs as he carefully places Louis on the mattress. “Dream about the chapter or something. Inspiration while sleeping, yeah?”

Louis tries to protest, he does. He’s not a child, he doesn’t need to go to sleep. In fact, he pulled a million all-nighters in college. Sleep is for the weak, he’d like to think. But as soon as he’s laying on the mattress, he’s out. Zayn’s won this time around. 

Fortunately, Louis sleeps peacefully through the rest of the night. He knows that it’s all his exhaustion finally catching up to him, all the late nights and time his eyes have spent boring into his computer screen. For once, he wakes up feeling refreshed, only a little groggy when he tries to remember how he ended up in his bed last night. Or was it the morning?

When he enters the living room, Zayn’s already up and painting. He doesn’t know how he does it — between the both of them, Louis is more of a morning person than Zayn is. If Zayn could sleep the whole day away, he would. Waking Zayn up isn’t easy to do either, he knows that from experience. But as much as Zayn likes to sleep, Louis also knows that they both really enjoy working in the morning and the feeling of accomplishment that comes with finishing something when the sun is still high in the sky. 

“Made some coffee if you want it,” Zayn hums, not bothering to take his eyes off of his work. Squinting, Louis can see that there’s already red paint on Zayn’s cheek, hands already messy with colors as well. He’s in his usual painting clothes, a black skater tank and shorts, and Louis despises him for already looking good at this time in the morning. 

“You’re the best,” Louis sighs, already pouring himself a cup. When he’s done, he sits himself down next to Zayn, just watching the dark haired boy work the brush over his canvas. He has no idea what Zayn’s drawing — it looks pretty abstract to him, there might be a face in there if he squints, but in his opinion, Zayn’s abstract works are the coolest. He doesn’t know how he does it, but Zayn’s able to translate his emotions so perfectly through his use of shapes and colors. 

“You make it look so easy,” Louis murmurs, shaking his head as he sips at his coffee. Everything Zayn does looks effortless to him, he thinks. It’s sort of annoying.

Zayn just rolls his eyes, playfully tapping the bristles of his brush against Louis’ bare shin, leaving behind a stroke of red paint. “Not easy, babes,” He promises. In theory, Louis knows he’s right. Besides the crazy amount of skill it requires and the patience that Louis knows he doesn’t have, he’s seen Zayn drive himself crazy over his paintings before. 

“I’m never gonna write this book,” Louis sighs, rubbing at his temples. “I’m gonna be a one hit wonder for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t think people say that about authors, dork,” Zayn snorts.

“They will. I’ll be the one to start it,” Louis grumbles. 

“You’re dramatic.” 

Louis groans, closing his eyes. “M’not dramatic,” he grumbles, “I don’t know how to write. Can barely call myself a writer. The first book was a stroke of luck,” he shakes his head, “Gonna live in despair and misery forever and ride on your coattails. This is me telling you that you’re going to have to be my sugar daddy for now on—”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“—And whoever you marry is gonna have to be okay with your weird and depressed parasite of a best friend who probably lives in your basement. I’ll probably be the reason for your divorce, and then you’ll be depressed and hate me, but you’re way too nice to kick me out, so we’ll both just be upset, except you’ll have money and I won’t.”

Zayn sighs, putting his brush down. “Lou, you’re the best writer I know. You’re being too hard on yourself,” he says. 

“I’m being _honest_.” 

“No, you’re being a brat,” Zayn muses. “It’s normal to be in a slump.”

“I’m in a _ditch_ ,” Louis whines. 

Rolling his eyes, Zayn sighs. “Maybe you need to change up your routine, yeah? Just because this worked for you the last time, doesn’t mean it’s gonna work again. You just need to find some inspiration.”

“I’ve been trying, Z. Feels like I’ve tried everything under the sun,” Louis frowns. “I’ve been to, like. Five different parks in the past week. And different coffee shops. I even took the train to New Jersey the other day,” he says, and Zayn laughs, eyes crinkling at the idea. 

“Babes, you’re not going to find anything in New Jersey.” 

“ _I know_. That’s how hopeless this feels. I don’t even have a storyline, Zayn. I should just pull the plug on this. Should, like. Become an English teacher or something,” he grumbles. 

Zayn shakes his head, hooking an arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulling him close. Louis doesn’t hesitate to press himself into Zayn’s side, huffing softly. “You’re not becoming an English teacher, babes. You’re a writer. If you _write_ , you’re a _writer_. You’re one of the most talented people I know,” he promises, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “Take a week off or something, you know? Take a little trip. Try _not_ to write. Maybe something will come to you.”

Louis sighs, closing his eyes as he keeps his face pressed into Zayn’s neck. “Maybe,” he mumbles, silently thanking the world for leading him to the angel that is Zayn Malik. “Gonna bother you today, I think,” he tells Zayn after a few minutes of silence, resting his cheek on Zayn’s shoulder.

“Can bother me as much as you’d like,” Zayn snorts, rubbing his hand over Louis’ clothed back. Louis takes a moment to enjoy the feeling. “I would like the use of my arms back whenever you’re ready, though. Just wanna finish this commission today at least.”

Louis pouts in protest, but he ends up moving away from the dark haired boy, instead finding a pillow to lay back on the floor and watch Zayn work. Just because he’s struggling with his own motivation doesn’t mean he’s allowed to hold Zayn back from his. Besides, he’s always enjoyed watching Zayn, remembers all those nights in college he’d spend with Zayn while the dark-haired boy worked his ideas onto the canvas.

Maybe a day of resting is what he needs anyway. He’s going to pretend like Zayn wasn’t the one to suggest the idea. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

It takes three days off and a listen to a voicemail from his grandmother to grant Louis the (debatably) best idea he’s had in a while.

“I’m going to Wyoming.”

Zayn blinks. “Wyoming,” he repeats slowly, placing his brush down on his easel.

“Wyoming,” Louis confirms as if it’s the most brilliant thing he’s said in a while. As if it’s not a shock to come out of his mouth after a walk in Washington Square Park. 

It’s not the strangest thing to have come out of Louis’ mouth after a walk in Washington Square, though, (he blames it on all the hippy NYU kids) the strangest one would be the time Louis suggested that they move to Iceland and get married. 

It had been 2016, they were lifeless seniors in college, and Louis had just learned that Hillary Clinton was chosen over Bernie Sanders for the Democratic nomination. A traumatic time to be alive and a socialist, Louis admits. 

He wonders if he’d be on his third book by now if they had been happily married in Iceland. He knows they wouldn’t be struggling to pay rent, at least. 

“Think about it. It’s peaceful, it’s _beautiful_ , and I’ll have no distractions, don’t you think? Just me, nature, and my thoughts transferring to paper,” Louis reasons, plopping himself down on the floor besides Zayn, wincing when his ass hits the floor a little too roughly. It’s times like these that he doesn’t understand why Zayn opts to work on the floor when he has a desk located three feet from them. He doesn’t remember the last time Zayn’s worked at his desk. 

Zayn doesn’t look too convinced. Louis can’t blame him, honestly. There’s not much in Wyoming in the first place. But that’s the point, isn’t it? A new location, no distractions.

“You could even come with,” Louis adds, grinning as he leans forward into Zayn’s space.

Zayn doesn’t hesitate before he says, “No.”

Louis pouts, leaning away from the dark haired boy. “You could at least pretend to consider it, you know. _Try_ not to hurt my feelings.”

Zayn puts on an over-exaggerated thinking face for show, and Louis has half a mind to grab a pillow and smother him with it. Just as Zayn opens his mouth, Louis’ quick to shush him. He doesn’t want to hear it. “Still no, I get it. Don’t break my heart further, _Jesus_.”

“I would rather not take part in your weird _Brokeback Mountain_ fantasy, that’s all,” Zayn shrugs his shoulders, grabbing a shirt-turned-rag and wiping the paint off of his hands. 

“It’s a good movie,” Louis frowns. And okay, _rude_. Just the thought of the soundtrack to the movie is enough to get Louis tearing up, “Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal in one movie? Anne Hathaway, too. It was ahead of its time.” 

Zayn scrunches up his nose, “I’m pretty sure Gyllenhaal got fucked without lube.”

“It’s an exquisite piece of fiction,” Louis frowns. “An _arguably_ terrible sex scene should not take away from its beauty nor the pure yearning depicted in the film. And— _anyways_ , that’s not the point. This isn’t some _Brokeback Mountain_ fantasy. _I_ think it’d be nice. I’m going to stay with my grandparents for a few weeks and write the best piece of literature the world has ever seen.”

“In _Wyoming_? You’re going to write the best piece of literature the world has ever seen in _Wyoming_?”

“I’ll text you every single day. And I’ll give you the next few months of rent in advance,” Louis insists, throwing his arms around Zayn. 

Zayn sighs, leaning into the embrace. “If I lose you to the rednecks, I swear,” he mumbles threateningly, hooking an arm around Louis’ waist and tugging him closer. 

Louis just smiles, smacking a kiss to Zayn’s cheek. “As if I could ever leave you, Zaynie.” 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

It takes a very delayed seven-hour flight and a forty-five minute taxi ride before Louis finally arrives at his grandparents’ farm in Jackson. Stepping out of the taxi cab, it looks just as he remembers it from a few years ago. He was in high school the last time he visited, just barely fourteen at the start of the summer. 

After thanking the taxi cab driver for helping him take out his bags and handing over cash for the fare, Louis stands at the end of the dirt driveway. From here, the wooden fence surrounding the pasture looks the same, as does the cabin-like exterior of his grandparents’ ranch. The grass is brightly colored, and if Louis squints, he can see the faint silhouettes of cattle in the distance. In front of the house, at the start of the driveway, is parked an old and battered blue pickup truck, the same one Louis remembers riding in as a young boy. Behind the ranch, he knows there are a number of tractors, new and old, as well as a barn a couple yards away. The amount of land his grandparents have is insane, in his opinion, and it feels like every time he visits, their farm seems to grow. 

Louis prepares himself for the trek up to the porch when he glances between the amount of bags he has and the length of the driveway. He tried to pack light, he did, only brought as much clothes as he thought he needed and his essentials, but somehow he still failed to pack light. He takes a deep breath and slings one of the bags over his shoulders, using both his hands to lift the remaining two bags beside his feet. For a quick second he considers loading his things onto a tractor and driving up the driveway, but he doesn’t know if he could survive the embarrassment if his grandparents caught him being _that_ lazy. 

He’s somewhat out of breath by the time he reaches the porch, dropping his bags on the wooden floor in slight exhaustion. He barely gets to recover before the door is swinging open, revealing his grandfather, Cliff, in the doorway. 

“I thought I saw someone walkin’ up the driveway,” he grins. “C’mon in. Look at ya — he’s all grown up now,” he says, holding an arm out. 

“Hi, Pops.” Louis greets easily before he’s wrapping an arm around his grandfather, already warmed by the embrace. 

“Did you have a good flight?” Cliff asks when he pulls away, taking one of the bags and helping Louis into the house. “Good Lord, you packed the whole state of New York in here?” Cliff grunts out from the hallway. Louis braces himself before he’s lifting the remaining bag, following his grandfather inside of the house. 

“Yeah— as good as flights can be, I guess,” Louis chuckles. Fortunately, he’s never been one to get sick while in the air, but he can’t say it’s his favorite feeling in the world. Nevertheless, he’s not about to drive from New York to Wyoming, so taking the plane it is. 

“As long as it makes the landin’, right?” Cliff jokes, hands on his hips before he’s craning his neck to peer into the kitchen after hearing the faint sound of a back door closing. “Eve, guess who’s here!” He calls, a wide and toothy smile on his face. 

“I swear, Cliff, you make that poor boy work so hard. I thought I told you to give him the day off. You know Louis’ comin’—” Louis’ grandmother tuts as she enters the hallway, cutting herself off when she catches sight of Louis by the door. “Oh, _hi_ , darlin’. Look how big you’ve gotten,” she fusses, taking no hesitation as she wraps her arms around Louis in a big bear hug. 

“Hi, Nana,” Louis laughs, hugging her back just as tightly. With the embrace, Louis is transported back to the feeling of being a kid, the familiar scent of his grandmother’s perfume and apple pie taking over his senses. It’s everything perfect and warm, and honestly, he’s not sure how he’s managed not to visit more than he has. 

Even with them being more than two thousand miles away, Louis knows that he’s fortunate to have such a great relationship with his grandparents. If plane tickets weren’t so expensive, he likes to think he’d make it out here more often. 

“Still as delicate as a twig, though,” Evelyn shakes her head, squeezing Louis’ arm lightly. He’d like to think he’s a lot bigger than he was at fourteen, but he also knows that his frame isn’t any less delicate as it used to be. _Twink-ish_ , Zayn likes to tease him. “We’ll get you bulked up,” she teases, pinching Louis’ cheek before she’s finally pulling away. Considering how much his grandmother loves to bake, Louis doesn’t doubt that she’ll be trying her hardest to fatten him up while he’s here. 

“Well, let’s get you settled in, hm? I just finished cleaning up your room — oh, it’s so clean. Clean space, easy mind,” Evelyn babbles, leading Louis down the hall without hesitation. “I just had your grandfather finish remodelin’ the room this past spring — isn’t that a funny coincidence? It’s like I _knew_ you were comin’ this summer,” she teases, tapping her finger against her temple. 

“I wouldn’t have minded just sleeping on your sofa for the summer, Nana,” Louis laughs softly, to which Evelyn immediately scoffs, batting her grandson’s nonsense away.

“That’s ridiculous. No grandson of mine is goin’ to sleep on the sofa,” she says, grimacing as if even just the thought disgusts her. “Besides, it was hardly any work at all. The sheets are clean, the room is practically brand new— you can make it your own for the summer. I got our farmhand to help your grandfather bring the desk up from the basement. Harry, he’s a sweetheart, you’ll have to meet him,” she hums. “But, anyway, you’re free to make it your own little sanctuary. We can go out into the town and pick up some candles, even. Whatever you’d like.”

Louis smiles, setting his bag down on the floor of the room. Already, he thinks, it’s peaceful. A little impersonal with the walls white and bare, save for a lone painting of some horses eating far in the pasture hanging just above the bed. Across from the bed, there’s a small window nook, bringing in just the perfect amount of light while giving the room a clear view of the ranch. From a distance, Louis can see his grandparents’ sheep grazing in the pasture. The room is a stark contrast to his room in his and Zayn’s apartment. Although it isn’t messy, per say, it is cluttered with books and sketches Zayn gifts him every so often. His shelves and desk are full of trinkets found in thrift shops or from friends, his walls cluttered with pictures. Louis has a habit of hanging onto every little thing, especially if it has emotional value to him. Of course, he loves his room back home, loves the absolute chaos of his bedroom, but there’s just something about having a fresh new area to start. 

“Sure, Nana. Thank you,” Louis smiles, wrapping an arm around Evelyn and pulling her in for a side hug. “It’s lovely. You didn’t have to go so crazy,” he tells her. 

“Oh, please. I told you, it was barely any work. Besides, it got your grandfather busy, so,” Evelyn teases, squeezing Louis’ side. “Now, I’ll leave you to get settled in. When you’re ready, I made some apple cobbler for everyone to share. A little celebration for our favorite boy visitin’.”

Louis smiles, shaking his head fondly at his grandmother. With another squeeze to his side, she’s exiting the bedroom and leaving Louis inside to get settled in. In no sense does he have enough energy to try and unpack his things; he’ll deal with that later. 

Looking out the window and out towards the green pasture, Louis thinks that, yeah, he’s going to find his inspiration here. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Louis spends a week getting accustomed to his temporary life in Wyoming. Between tagging along on trips into the town with his grandmother and reading on the back porch with his grandfather and their cat, Stella (who’s taken quite a liking towards Louis, always crawling into his lap or coming into his room) he hasn’t had much time or motivation to write. It’s been on his mind the whole time, a quiet reminder in the back of his brain that this isn’t a vacation, he should be working and writing. After allowing his grandmother to stuff him silly with lunch, Louis packs himself a few snacks, pens, and his usual notebooks, determined on getting something written. It’s a new day, he’s in a new place, and he’s _going_ to find some sort of inspiration here. Maybe he’s a little too naive, a little too hopeful, but he’s set on making this work. 

Something about connecting with nature and getting in tune with the Earth always proves to inspire writers, he’s heard. At least, that’s how he’s always comprehended it. 

Luckily enough for Louis, he vaguely recalls playing down by the lake as a child, spending hours upon hours in the field of wildflowers. It takes him twenty minutes to remember how to get there, but to his surprise, it’s just as beautiful as he remembers. 

The lake is bordered by pine brush and open fields of flowers, and beyond the lake, Louis can see the Teton Range. He brushes his fingers along the tops of purple loosestrife as he passes by, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of the Rockies in the distance. New York has always been his home— he’s partial to the sanguine aura of the bustling city streets, the bright lights at three in the morning. Hell, he even adores the bar fights that happen on their street almost every late Friday evening. But not even his favorite place in Manhattan could compare to the peace he felt just from stepping onto the quiet plain. 

Taking in a deep breath, Louis finds a little open area to set up camp, digging through his bag for the light blanket he had packed. He fans it out over the grass, sitting himself down on one of the corners of the blanket and dragging his bag into his lap. Rummaging through its contents, Louis pulls out his notebook, covered in stickers and scribbles already, and his favorite pen, a way too expensive fountain pen Zayn bought him for his birthday a year ago. How he hasn’t lost it yet is in itself a miracle, truthfully. 

For the moment, he thinks he was right, that this is all going to work. It’s exactly what he needs right now — some peace and quiet, some new and gorgeous distractions away from all his usual dull distractions. As much as Zayn wants to tease him about his silly _Brokeback Mountain_ fantasies, Louis’ going to prove himself. A clear head, a quiet environment, and some breath-taking views. He doesn’t want to jinx himself, but something tells him this is going to be his best book yet. Then again, Louis thinks, he’s only written one before this, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pride himself on his own self-improvement. 

As soon as Louis puts his pen to the crisp blank page in his notebook, the ideas are flowing smoothly out and into the ink, into words that he couldn’t find in himself just days earlier. He’s not even sure if anything he’s writing even makes any sense at the moment, but for now, he’ll allow his thoughts to be written down as organic as they are. He doesn’t want to lose this moment when he’s been waiting for it for so long. 

For the first time in months, writing feels easy. He doesn’t have to think too much into the process, doesn’t have to trick himself into getting his thoughts to translate into words that make sense on paper. After struggling for so long to get the ideas out of his head and into the universe, Louis can’t express how much better he feels. 

After a few hours, Louis lays himself down in the grass, watching the clouds pass by. The sun is beginning to set, there’s a golden hue spreading across the land, and Louis knows he’ll have to leave soon before his grandmother sends out a search party for him. He’s not too far from the farm, knows it’ll only take him ten minutes or so to return back, so he’s not too worried. He closes his eyes then, letting the distant sound of the ducks moving in the water and the occasional chirps of birds settle in the air. 

_Crackle_.

Snapping his eyes open, Louis stares up at the now golden-pink sky, begging whichever higher being who lives up there not to let him turn his head and come face to face with a bear. Or a buffalo. Or a mustang. Louis thinks the list of animals he’d rather see is a lot shorter than the list he’d hate to see. He squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment, wondering if he manages to pretend to be dead, the bear would leave him alone. 

He’s twenty-three, has barely published a proper novel, and he’s about to get mauled by a bear. 

Who knew the last time he saw Zayn would be the last? 

Who knew the last time he got fucked would be his last?

_Baaaa._

Louis’ internal monologue ceases upon the shaky noise, and without thinking first, Louis turns his head in the direction of the noise— and it’s a _baby sheep_. Briefly, he’s witnessing his own form of second-hand embarrassment, and he’s so thankful nobody’s around to see him right now. God, it’s a _lamb_. 

“Shit, please don’t eat that,” Louis begs when he realizes the little lamb’s stuck their head inside of Louis’ bag, licking at what Louis can only assume to be his notebooks and papers. Just when he thought he was doing alright with the progress of his book.

“That’s not food, darling, let’s— let’s not eat my writing. It’s not as good as it looks, I promise,” Louis insists softly, tentatively reaching his hands out for the bag. The baby sheep backs its way out of the bag, stumbling over the straps. “Oh, _my_ — are you okay?” He’s talking to sheep now, _great_.

Louis reaches out his hand in an attempt to steady the little lamb, and to his surprise, the lamb makes a soft noise before they’re brushing their head against Louis’ palm. Louis lets out a laugh, eyes crinkling as the animal allows him to pet over their fluffy, white, and puffy coat. 

“ _Winfred!_ ” 

Louis snaps his head up at the sound of a distant voice, eyes meeting a figure coming into view. The lamb, presumably _Winfred_ , jumps excitedly at the noise, turning away from Louis and frolicing around while the figure gets closer. It’s a _man_ , Louis realizes in seconds, and he has half a mind to bring his hand up to physically keep his jaw from falling open in shock. He’s dressed in a loose and almost silky white button-up, sleeves rolled up carelessly just above his elbows. It’s unbuttoned down to just below his _very_ defined pecs, showcasing almost-golden sun kissed skin and a number of tattoos that Louis would think looked ridiculous on just about anybody else. Half of his shirt is tucked into his belted jeans, blue, worn out, and permanently dusty with dirt at the knees while flared out at the ankles. On his feet, Louis could have expected nothing less than the weathered brown leather cowboy boots that peeked out from underneath his jeans. Under his off-white colored cowboy hat, Louis can see tufts of brunette curly hair that frame his face, and _oh fuck_ , his face. His lips are pink and plump, guarded by a layer of trimmed dark hair above his upper lip and a light dusting of stubble along his chin and jaw. Louis painfully ignores the urge to know what that would feel like against his thighs. 

“I can’t take you out on walks if you’re goin’ to run away from me, girl. What if he was a _bear_? Am I supposed to find you mauled to death?” The man says to the lamb, and immediately, three thoughts cross Louis’ mind. 

One: he’s _not_ crazy for thinking Winfred was a bear. 

Two: Louis thinks he could listen to this man’s voice all day. Never once did Louis think that a western accent was attractive, but something about the way this man is speaking, the slow and deep drawl of his voice, feels like he’s listening to honey. Absently, he makes a note to scribble this down as soon as he can find where his pen rolled off to. 

Three: maybe it’s been far too long since Louis has been fucked, but he can’t stop thinking about how _hot_ this man is. About how much he wants to crawl over and wait on his knees before him. He doesn’t notice that he’s staring until he realizes that Hot Cowboy’s looking at Louis like he’s waiting for an answer. 

“Yes,” Louis answers quickly, without even considering what it could’ve been that this man has said to him. 

Hot Cowboy raises an eyebrow at that, an amused smirk spreading across his face as he lifts Winfred into his arms. “Yes?” He questions, and okay, that obviously wasn’t the right answer. “Said I hope little Winnie didn’t bother you too much.”

Louis is forcing himself to pay attention to Hot Cowboy’s words now, refusing to embarrass himself in front of this _Godlike_ being, shaking his head immediately. “No— she— I’m okay.” He nods his head instead, feeling almost as if he’s experiencing whiplash by how much he’s moving his head around. He’s… not very smart when it comes to hot cowboys, okay? Hot men in general leave him with a head empty of thoughts. 

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through. 

“I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions,” he adds.

“Guessing Winnie ain’t helpin’ with that,” Hot Cowboy laughs, and Louis really needs to get out of this situation. 

This is _Wyoming_. None of the hot men are gay; in fact, none of the men are gay _period_. This isn’t _Brokeback Mountain_. The most he can expect from a town like this is a few closeted men, maybe an old lesbian couple, and an underground gay bar in _Cheyenne_ across the state. Granted, he thinks the gay pride flag that his grandparents hung on their back porch when Louis came out to them years ago is the most gay-friendly thing he’s seen in Jackson so far. 

Louis squares his shoulders a little as he sits up straighter, reminding himself that the last thing he needs is to come across as a _fairy_ to a very beefy cowboy. The bear might not hurt him, but this man surely could. “She’s fine. Though, I think she was trying to eat my papers,” Louis muses.

Hot Cowboy just laughs, rubbing Winnie’s little head. The lamb makes a happy noise in response to the touch, knocking her head happily against Hot Cowboy’s chest. Louis tries not to melt at the very sight. 

“What have I told you about eatin’ paper, girl? You’ve been spendin’ way too much time with the goats, haven’t ya?” Hot Cowboy sighs. Louis takes this moment to grab his bag, taking a peek inside to examine the contents. Fortunately, his papers only look a bit crumpled and smudged with dirt. He can’t see any little bite marks so he figures that Winnie wasn’t very successful in having her usual paper snack. 

“Well, I’m sorry about Winnie again— we’ll get out of your hair now,” Hot Cowboy says. Louis’ torn between feeling relief and disappointment, but he just nods his head, hoping that by now his face is back to its normal color. “Should warn you that the bears do make a visit sometimes. Keep an eye out for them,” he adds.

“Right, thanks for the advice,” Louis nods once again, trying his hardest not to focus on the bear comment. As soon as Hot Cowboy and his little lamb are gone, he’ll be on his way home with hopefully no bear encounter. 

Hot Cowboy just grins, shifting Winnie in his hold so he can tip his hat towards Louis with his now free hand. As the man is leaving, Louis stares down at his bag, wondering what in the hell just happened. He has to be dreaming, he has to be. “No, I’m sorry, you’ve lost your walkin’ privileges for the night, little lady. No more runnin’ off for you,” Louis hears Hot Cowboy tut at the lamb in the distance. He’s soft for a man and his fluffy lamb. What on earth? 

When the pair are finally gone, Louis quickly cleans up his area. After making sure his papers aren’t getting any more crumpled in his bag, Louis shoves in the blanket and anything else he’s left around before he’s on his way back to the farm. By now, the sky’s turned into a deeper mix of purple and pink, letting Louis know that if he left any later, he’d probably have to make his way back through the dark. 

When he reaches the farm, his grandmother’s sitting on the porch, perched in her rocking chair with a book in her lap. It reminds him of the early summers he had spent chasing around the goats and chickens in the pasture while his grandmother pretended to pay no mind. Stella’s laid out across the wooden deck, peeking her head up as Louis comes walking up the lopsided path to the ranch. 

“Hi, darlin’,” his grandmother greets him when he makes his way up the stairs. “Spent the whole day out there, didn’t you? Gettin’ that book done?” She smiles as Louis reaches down to pet Stella. 

“Something like that,” he muses. Truth be told, he _did_ get a lot of writing done before Winnie and her human friend showed up. Whether or not it’ll end up in his book, he’s not too sure. But any progress is still progress, right? He decides not to mention the backcountry version of Fabio he met only minutes earlier for his own sanity. 

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night,” Louis admits then, straightening up and taking his hand away from Stella. He’s tired, he realizes, and there’s a very big part of him that just wants to crawl into bed for the night. He deserves it after this day, he thinks. He got a lot of work done, and in a sense, he’s just looking forward to the next morning. 

With a kiss to his grandmother’s cheek, Louis heads inside the house, making his way into the guest bedroom. He doesn’t bother to unpack his bag, decides that he’ll deal with it all in the morning. He does make the effort to pull out his notebook, though, flipping through it to examine any and all damage caused by Winnie. In the light, he’s relieved to confirm that there’s nothing more than a few smudges of dirt across the cover, a few crumpled corners, and little bite marks around the binding. 

He sets it down on the nightstand before undressing for bed and crawling underneath the covers. There’s a part of him that can’t wait to get up and start writing again, but he’s trying not to rush the night away. If there’s one thing Louis needs recently, it’s some sleep.

If he dreams about a certain curly haired cowboy, absolutely nobody needs to know. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Unfortunately, the last time Louis meets Hot Cowboy isn’t the last. 

“Lou, darlin’, have you met Harry yet?” His grandmother calls from the back porch when Louis’ sat in the dining room with his grandfather, Stella settled on his lap as they eat breakfast. Louis frowns, giving an apologetic look down to Stella and pets her head lightly.

“Sorry, Stel,” Louis pouts, lifting her carefully from his lap and placing her on his seat. The cat narrows her eyes slightly, curling up and immediately claiming the space as her own. 

Wiping his hands, Louis makes his way out to the back door where he finds his grandmother standing with none other than Hot Cowboy from yesterday. His cheeks pinken when Harry smirks at him, raising an eyebrow like this is a surprise to him as well. 

“Not officially,” Louis admits, and his grandmother gives him a curious look. 

“Winnie ran off and caused some ruckus yesterday evening. Somehow she ended up in his hands,” Harry explains, and Louis’ grandmother sighs heavily in response. 

“I don’t know why you’re so insistent on taking her walkin’ all the time. She’s gonna run off one of these days, Harry. She’ll be at the mercy of the bears,” Louis’ grandmother warns. 

“She follows _me_ around, I can’t stop her, Evelyn,” Harry waves her off, turning towards Louis. “Should’ve known you were a Tomlinson. She’s been goin’ on about you for weeks now.”

“My first grandchild. Very proud, he’s a dream,” Evelyn hums proudly, hooking her arm around Louis’ waist and tugging him closer. Louis just laughs, rolling his eyes at the praise. “My favorite, too. Don’t tell the others,” she teases. 

“You’re the writer, then? Eve’s told me all about it. New York Times Bestseller, are ya?” Harry hums. Louis really wants to know how he ended up in this situation.

“Oh, well. Almost _every_ author’s on that list,” Louis shrugs his shoulders, cheeks a little pink. He’s proud of it, and he knows his grandparents are as well. When his first book came out, they bought three personal use copies (one for each of them, including Stella despite the fact cats don’t read) and another for the local library, just so Louis’ name would be in circulation and they could boast about their grandson.

“Hush, don’t be so modest, peach,” Evelyn tuts, pushing at Louis’ shoulder lightly. “He’s very talented. Likes to pretend that he’s not.”

Louis blushes, rolling his eyes. _If I was so talented, this second book wouldn’t be taking me ages to write,_ he thinks. 

“Well, I better get back to work. It was nice meetin’ you, Louis. Good luck on the writin’,” Harry grins, giving him a wave of his hand. “I’ll bring you some of that apple cobbler tomorrow, Eve,” he promises.

When they’re back inside and eating breakfast, Stella returns to her spot on Louis’ lap. 

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Evelyn asks, and Louis glances up, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. It’s then that he realizes what she’s doing, who she’s talking about, and God, he really doesn’t need to be talking to his grandmother about cute boys. It’s not even that Harry’s cute — he is, of course — but if he’s being honest, Harry’s actually sort of a wet dream Louis never knew he had. That is not something he can just lightly tell his grandmother. 

He’s extremely grateful for his grandparents and how accepting they are of him, he can’t even begin to express it in words, but _this_ , he doesn’t need.

“Nana, no,” Louis’ cheeks pinken, running a hand through his hair.

“What? I think he’s cute. He’s a looker for sure,” Evelyn shrugs, sipping at her tea. There’s no way this is real life. Of course Hot Cowboy works for his grandparents. And of course he’s the very golden farm hand that they talk about so dearly. 

“Please don’t try to set me up with your farm hand. Your probably _very_ straight and conservative farm hand,” Louis pleads.

“Harry Styles?” Louis’ grandfather asks, looking up from his newspaper, peeking above the brown reading glasses settled on the tip of his nose. “He’s a good boy, that one.”

“I didn’t say _anythin’_. All I asked was if you thought he was cute,” Evelyn shakes her head at Louis. 

“I— yeah, he’s cute, I guess,” he grumbles. His grandparents don’t need to know about the _Hot Cowboy_ title he’s given him in his head. 

“I think he’s attractive,” his grandfather says, nodding his head towards Evelyn. “He’s wonderful with the animals, always helpin’ us out.”

“He’s a sweetheart. And he’s _single_ ,” Evelyn adds, leaning over to nudge her elbow against Louis’ side. 

One of these days, Louis’ going to be able to sit through a family visit without having every one of his relatives try to set him up with someone. The amount of times his mother’s told him about her “very single, very cute, and very gay dentist” is just too many.

“And very straight,” Louis reminds with a huff, shaking his head. “This isn’t West Village,” he reminds them. “I promise you, I’m fine. Happy, even. You don’t need to go setting me up with guys.”

Cliff shrugs his shoulders, and Evelyn sighs. Even Stella seems to stare at him in disappointment. As sad and desperate as Louis is, he doesn’t need his family to try and set him up with men he barely knows. That, and he doesn’t need to get hung up over a straight man when his whole purpose for spending the summer here was to work on his book without any distractions. 

No more distractions. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“Well if it ain’t Louis Tomlinson.”

At the sound of the familiar voice behind him, Louis closes his eyes. This is how it’s going to be, he realizes. He’s failed to remember the fact that Jackson is _not_ Manhattan and he’s going to run into the same people every single day. Maybe it’s his fault for choosing to work in the town diner today, but in his defense, he doesn’t _exactly_ know anybody here. People know his grandparents, and if anything, they know him as ‘ _the Tomlinsons’ boy,’_ maybe ‘ _the writer,’_ or as much as Louis would like to ignore this one, possibly ‘ _the queer.’_

For the most part, though, Louis figured he could go unbothered. But of course, the town of Jackson is nothing less than friendly. It’s small and intimate, and briefly, Louis thinks that if he wants to be intimate with Harry, he’d very much like it to be in bed. 

He has to stop thirsting over straight cowboys. 

“Workin’ on another bestseller, are ya?” Harry asks, gracefully setting himself down on the chair besides Louis. He doesn’t remember inviting Harry to sit, but he chooses to bite his tongue. 

“I don’t know if this one could be considered a bestseller,” Louis muses more to himself than to Harry. For one, Louis has barely started it — nobody’s going to eat up an unfinished work unless he was Virginia Woolf or someone similar. And on top of that, it looks like a bunch of incomprehensible nonsense considering how unruly his drafts and notes look. 

“I don’t read that often,” Harry admits, leaning back on his chair. He’s wearing a t-shirt today, something likely vintage and faded. Louis allows himself to look long enough to realize that it’s an old 70s Johnny Cash concert t-shirt, lettering faint and the fabric weathered and off-white. “I think the last book I read was _The Catcher in the Rye_ back in high school.” 

Louis has to refrain himself from scrunching up his nose at the reminder of the awful book. He remembers reading it in high school and hating it and hating it again once he had to read it in college. Fortunately enough, it doesn’t seem like Harry’s asking his opinion on the last book as he continues to speak. 

“I do have a copy of your book on my shelf though,” Harry says, and the idea of a book with his name on it sitting around in Harry’s house is enough to cause Louis’ cheeks to pinken. “Eve was givin’ _everyone_ a copy, you shoulda seen her,” he laughs. It doesn’t surprise Louis, honestly. He was under the impression they had only purchased the four he knew of, but his grandparents _have_ always been very supportive of him in every single way possible. It upsets him that he doesn’t see them all too often, but what he lacks in physical visits, he makes up for with cards, phone calls, and video calls. 

“I’ll admit I haven’t read it yet, though. Haven’t got around to it. And it looks too pretty to take off my shelf,” Harry continues. “Heard it’s a thriller, though. I’ll have to take it down and get you to sign it, I reckon,” he grins, raising an eyebrow over at Louis. 

“My signature would hardly be worth anything,” Louis promises, shaking his head as he folds the cover to his notebook over. He’s not exactly a household name. His book got a bit of attention, and did well in sales, sure, but he’s surely not Hemingway. 

“Humble as ever, like your grandmother says,” Harry chuckles. “Still, it’d be cool. A real published author’s signature.”

“If it’ll make your heart happy, I’ll sign your book,” Louis rolls his eyes lightly, lifting his cup of coffee up to take a sip. Harry smiles, pleased. 

“You workin’ on the next one here, then? Eve mentioned you’re gonna be here for a while,” Harry asks. 

Louis nods his head. Briefly, he wonders just how often Harry and his grandmother chat with each other. He can only hope that she’s not trying to chat her _‘amazingly talented author grandson_ ’ up to Harry. He might just die of embarrassment just from the thought alone. “For a few months or so,” Louis answers then. “I wanted to be less distracted. And I haven’t seen my grandparents in a while, so I figured Jackson was a good choice.” Explaining his reasoning to Zayn had been a little easier, convincing him that he’d be better at working here, but glancing at Harry, he’s unsure if he’ll be completely without distractions. 

“You’re makin’ Jackson sound like it’s borin’,” Harry pokes fun, folding his arms over his chest. 

“It’s not _boring_ ,” Louis backtracks, shaking his head and folding his hands over his notebook. “It’s just— I haven’t got any friends to distract me here, no responsibilities, stuff like that,” he reasons. 

Harry grins, and Louis immediately regrets saying he doesn’t have any friends here. He can almost feel what’s coming. He can’t befriend Harry Styles. At worst, befriending Harry Styles means heartbreak, it means pining over a man that’s going to leave him in pieces by the time he has to return to New York. At best, it means getting distracted with no book written. 

“You know I couldn’t let you be lonely here,” Harry starts. “As small as Jackson is, there’s a lot to see and plenty of people to meet. You just gotta know the spots,” he hunches over the table, resting his forearms on the dark wooden surface. Louis allows his eyes to linger on the size of Harry’s hands for a few moments until Harry’s speaking again, looking at Louis with an inviting grin. “Tell ya what, let me show you around Jackson tomorrow. You’ll like my friends. Maybe you’ll find somethin’ to write ‘bout.”

Louis knows better than to say yes. As inviting as Harry seems, he’s promised himself no distractions. Hot Cowboy included. 

“Sure,” Louis says without a hint of hesitation, cheeks a dusty red when Harry beams in response, partially blinding him. 

With that, it’s settled for Harry to swing by his grandparents’ farm in the morning, promising Louis that he has to drop some equipment off he borrowed from Cliff earlier in the week and it won’t be an inconvenience. Harry keeps Louis company for another two hours after that, falling into pleasant conversation about their lives. 

When Harry’s not working on the farm, he likes to paint. He doesn’t think he’s very good, but by the silly little acrylic portraits he pulls up of Winnie on his phone, Louis insists that they definitely at least have character. He’s no Zayn, Louis notes, but even just the fact that Harry likes to paint portraits of his fuzzy little friend makes Louis’ heart skip a beat. Besides painting, Harry’s very talented with woodwork and he’s built more furniture sets than he can count. 

He never went to college, and never had the chance to, but if he could go, he thinks he’d study law. He has a younger sister, Belle, who’s in college right now studying film. And his favorite thing to do on a Friday night is karaoke in town with his friends. 

Louis tells him about his life in New York, tells him all about Zayn and their tiny apartment in West Village. He talks about his college experience, and his first editing job after he graduated. It was the same year he wrote his first book, and as soon as he was published, he decided to leave. If he wasn’t a writer, he tells him he thinks he’d like to be a teacher because he’s just in love with kids. 

He doesn’t have any siblings of his own, so books and his childhood cat, Mila, were his first friends. He tells Harry that his grandparents have always spoiled him and that he feels bad he doesn’t live closer.

Eventually, Harry admits that he has to meet someone for plans later and should get going, and Louis realizes that he should be leaving soon too. He waves Harry goodbye, though, watching Harry leave the café and wondering how in the world he’s supposed to allow Harry to show him around Jackson tomorrow morning. Regardless, he packs up his notebook and pens and leaves a tip on the table for the waitress. 

It takes him fifteen minutes to get back to his grandparents’ in their blue ‘72 Ford Cortina, and he’s greeted immediately by his grandfather sleeping in his rocking chair on the porch. Louis smiles to himself before he’s stepping into the house, slipping off his shoes and nudging them to the side of the hallway. There’s a tiny pride flag hanging underneath the wall mirror as Louis walks by and all it does is remind him how very fucked he is when he reaches the living room. His grandmother is sitting on the loveseat, glasses perched on her nose and looking very focused on the papers in her hand. 

“He’s going to ruin my life,” Louis grumbles, careful not to trip over Stella lounging on the middle of the floor as he sulks into the living room. 

Evelyn glances up from her Sudoku, eyeing him as she looks over the rim of her reading glasses. It takes her a moment before a knowing smile spreads across her lips, something that silently tells Louis: _I told you so_. 

“You’ll like him,” she says. 

Louis groans, dramatic as he turns around and huffs his way down the hall to the guest bedroom. 

“That’s the problem,” he mutters into thin air. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

As promised, Harry Styles is at his grandparents’ ranch at ten in the morning. More specifically, he’s enjoying a piece of toast with his grandfather when Louis enters the kitchen at ten in the morning, ready to admit to his grandmother that Harry’s going to show him around town today. By the interested smile his grandmother gives him, Louis figures that she already knows their plans today. 

It’s not a date. 

Louis has to remind himself of this fact. 

(It’s not like he had to constantly repeat this fact to himself only the whole hour earlier while he was changing his outfit for the day over and over again. He _knows_ it’s not a date.)

Harry only notices that Louis’ come into the kitchen when Stella leaves Harry’s lap to walk over to Louis in the doorway. Instantly, Harry greets Louis with a dimpled smile. “Louis, g’mornin’,” he says brightly, brushing his hands off over his plate. “Are you ready to go? Did you want to eat first? Your grandmother made Kolaches,” Harry offers. 

Any other morning Louis would be ecstatic to get his hands on a Kolache, his grandmother makes them like no other. This morning, though, Louis has the feeling that if he sits down with his grandparents and Harry all together, his grandmother is going to try her hardest to set them up. He can see her curious eyes lingering between the two of them, and Louis decides that skipping breakfast, skipping all awkward conversation, and skipping being sat next to Harry for an hour is the best choice. 

“I’m okay,” Louis promises, nodding his head. “I’ll save one for myself for later. When you’re ready, I’m ready,” he tells him, leaning down to lift Stella into his arms. 

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Harry smiles, standing up and taking his plate to the sink. Louis most definitely doesn’t drag his eyes over the span of his back when Harry turns to wash his plate off in the sink. He could at least pretend like he didn’t anyway, until he meets his grandmother’s knowing eyes when he looks back. It only serves to remind him _why_ he can’t sit down for breakfast.

“Thank you for breakfast, Eve,” Harry hums after he’s put the dish away — how often does Harry come over for meals, Louis wonders — and returns to the kitchen table to press a departing kiss to her cheek as Louis plates a Kolache and sets it aside for later. 

“Oh, shush,” Evelyn waves him off as if Harry’s ridiculous for thinking he wouldn’t be welcome at breakfast. “You two have fun, alright? God knows Louis needs some friends around here,” she grins between the two boys. Louis rolls his eyes, reluctantly setting Stella back down on the floor.

“ _Nana_ ,” Louis groans. 

“I know, I know. You’re _workin’_ ,” Evelyn shakes her head. “I’m teasin’. Go have fun,” she repeats, shooing them away playfully. 

Louis shakes his head, turning towards Harry who’s already by the hallway, promising Cliff that he’ll come by either later today or tomorrow to work on one of the tractors. 

“We can take my truck,” Harry tells him, taking his hat off of the coat rack in the hallway and placing it upon the top of his head, tipping it towards Louis with a grin before he’s leading Louis out of the house. Louis has to take a moment to wrap his head around one: Harry’s one of those people who takes his hat off when he enters a building, and two: Harry unironically greets people by giving them a tip of his cowboy hat. It’s not getting any better for Louis.

Parked at the end of the driveway is a 1970s Chevy C10 flatbed truck, an olive green and single white striped body, raised on large black wheels. Its body is shiny and clean, and if Louis didn’t know trucks weren’t modeled like that anymore, he would’ve figured it was brand new. 

“Do you like her?” Harry grins when he catches Louis eyeing his truck. “I restored her myself,” he says proudly, unlocking the truck. It doesn’t surprise Louis — is there anything that Harry can’t do at this point?

“You restored her yourself?” Louis parrots, taking a moment to look over the vehicle as they approached the truck. “That’s a lot of work, I’d imagine.” 

Harry hums. “My summer project ‘bout a year ago. Should’ve seen her — she was a mess. Blowin’ smoke every time I drove her,” he shook his head, opening the door for Louis. “Got her from the junkyard, she was my first car. Believe it or not, I was drivin’ a tractor around before this,” he grins, rounding the truck to climb in on the driver’s side once Louis was inside. “Had to get all new parts, installed them myself. Now she’s a beauty, though,” he grins. 

“Does she have a name?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Harry grins, nodding. “‘Course she does. Named her Nancy.” He starts the car, reaching forward to turn the radio on. The truck slowly fills with the low lull of Johnny Cash’s voice as Harry pulls the truck into gear. “Y’know, like Nancy Sinatra? ‘These Boots Are Made For Walking,’ y'know the song?” 

“I know the song,” Louis smiles. “My grandmother used to play that _Nancy & Lee_ record all the time.”

“Ah, ‘Summer Wine,’” Harry chuckles, nodding his head as they start their drive out of Louis’ grandparents’ farm. It’s about fifteen minutes outside the actual town of Jackson, giving them a little bit of a trip. “You’ve been to Jackson a number of times, then?”

Louis smiles at the question, nodding his head. “I used to spend every other summer at my grandparents’ when I was younger.” He can remember the hot summer days he spent as a child, following his grandfather around the farm in wellies that were too heavy for his feet as Cliff fed the horses and sheep and humored his excited little questions and requests to pet each animal. “The last time I visited, I was fourteen. So it’s been quite a while,” he muses. Considering Jackson’s such a small town, he’s surprised he hadn’t met Harry until now. He supposed their paths just didn’t cross until the man started to work for the farm. 

“Mm,” Harry hums, rubbing at his chin as he drives. “Not quite unfamiliar enough to be a tourist, but not quite a local,” he teases.

Louis rolls his eyes, waving Harry off. “I don’t need to be indoctrinated into Jackson,” he says flatly. “I was more than happy to spend my days out in the field. Writing, getting my tan on, gaining ten pounds from Nana’s desserts,” he rambles off. 

“You’d miss so much fun, though,” Harry insists, almost determined to convince Louis. “What kind of fun is it to avoid social interaction like that?” 

Louis has to stop himself from rolling his eyes a second time. “It’s not about the social interaction—”

“I know. It’s about the _writing_. The _yearning_ ,” Harry smirks, sparing Louis a glance. Louis ignores the way his stomach flips in response to the simple curve of Harry’s lips. 

“I never said anything about _yearning_ ,” Louis argues, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Didn’t need to, sweetheart,” he grins in response, green eyes flickering over Louis’ face before they’re focusing on the road in front of them again. They’re in the town now, and Louis’ own eyes immediately land on the park square decorated by a sculptured arch crafted by elk antlers. 

Harry smiles when he notices Louis’ gaze. “I’ll show you the arch, ‘cause everybody’s gotta see the arch — I’ll admit it, it’s pretty cool,” Harry hums. “But you ain’t a tourist today, you’re a local, so instead I’m gonna show you some of my favorite spots,” he tells him once he’s parked the car on the side of the street. 

The town is decently busy as Louis climbs down from the truck, watching as Harry’s hand flies up to greet a passing truck, shouting something that Louis can’t catch. From the looks of the way Harry tips his head back and laughs, it seems like the man in the truck was quick enough to catch it and return the gesture. _Men_ , Louis thinks. 

Dimples on display, Harry grins as he rounds the truck to where Louis is standing on the sidewalk. “We’ll swing by the arch later and snap that classic picture,” he promises, motioning for Louis to start walking with him down the sidewalk. “Gonna introduce you to my friends first.” 

Just as they enter the shop, Harry leads Louis over towards a woman in the middle of the store. The decor of the store is rustic, almost resembling a cabin; there’s a taxidermied moose head mounted at the front of the store just above the old-style cash register, and if Louis took a second to forget that he was in Wyoming, he’d either feel like he stepped into an Abercrombie & Fitch store from his teenage years or a Cabela’s. 

“Kenny!” Harry greets with a dimpled smile, not hesitating before he leans forward and wraps an arm around the tall woman, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She’s pretty, Louis notes immediately. She’s tall — only an inch or two shorter than Harry — and he has absolutely no doubt that this woman could be a model. Of course Harry’s friends are hot. 

“Paying me a visit, are you? How sweet of you,” the girl smiles back at him, and it only takes Louis a second to decide that, _oh_ , they’re a thing. They’re totally a thing. 

Should it surprise him that Harry has the Wyoming equivalent of a Victoria’s Secret model as a girlfriend? 

Louis can’t wait to tell his grandmother, _‘I told you so_.’ He can finally put this _not_ -crush to rest. Louis does not waste his time crushing on straight boys. He has enough self-respect for that. 

It takes Harry a second to remember Louis is right beside him, probably only doing so because Kendall’s spared a curious , motioning towards the boy. “This is Louis. Eve and Cliff’s grandson,” Harry introduces him. “Louis, this is Kendall.”

“The writer? I’ve seen your book in H’s house,” Kendall grins. “Your grandparents’ love to brag about ya.”

“So I’ve heard,” Louis muses. 

“Where’s it you’re from again? Boston?”

“New York,” Louis corrects. 

Kendall just smiles, shaking her head. “The city’s all the same, ain’t it?” 

Louis blinks. Boston and New York are definitely not the same, and he’s not sure how that’s managed to come out of Kendall’s mouth. New York is flashy and vibrant, and while Louis wouldn’t mind visiting Boston on a day trip, the city is just slower. He loves the quick pace of Manhattan, likes the busy streets and bright lights. He likes that there’s a bodega on every other corner, and that there’s always a new club to hop to on his and Zayn’s night outs. As much as he wants to say no, he’s not sure he wants to stand here and explain to Kendall the difference. Part of him is sure that the only city Kendall’s stepped in is Cheyenne, if it can even be considered a city. Hell, he’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and say she’s visited Denver. So instead he smiles. It doesn’t matter anyway, since her attention immediately falls back to Harry. 

“You’re still goin’ to Dollyfest Saturday, right?” Kendall asks Harry then, crossing her arms over her chest. “Y’all should come, it’ll be _fun_. Harry always breaks out his best cowboy hat,” she grins, pushing at Harry’s shoulder. 

“Is that—” Louis starts, only for Harry to grin at him and answer, “A Dolly Parton festival? ‘Course it is.”

“Kacey’s comin’, and I know Niall’s going to be there— he said somethin’ about driving,” Kendall adds with a smile. 

“We’ll be there,” Harry answers without hesitation, and well, Louis supposes he can’t argue. Besides, a Dolly Parton festival sounds sort of fun. “Speakin’ of the devil, is Niall workin’ today, do y’know?”

Kendall hums, thinking. “I reckon he is. Think I saw him walkin’ down Town Square just an hour ago.”

“Great, thanks, Kenny,” Harry grins, and he’s smacking a gracious kiss to her cheek before motioning towards Louis so they can get on their way. “I’ll see you Saturday. Text me the details when you’ve got ‘em,” Harry insists, waving as they leave the store. 

“Kendall seems nice,” Louis hums non-committedly when they’re out of earshot. “She’s pretty,” he adds, glancing at Harry. 

Harry raises an eyebrow at that, seeming a little perplexed by Louis’ note. “She is,” he agrees slowly, stopping in front of a bar and opening the first set of doors for Louis. Luckily enough for both of them, the man drops the subject altogether. 

As soon as they step inside, they’re met with another set of doors, rustic and wooden saloon-style batwing doors which look like they’ve been stolen from an old western set. Harry pushes the door open for Louis, allowing him to step inside the bar first. 

“Styles!”

Louis looks forward towards the sudden shout, his eyes landing on a man waving towards Harry from behind the bar.

“Niall!” Harry calls back with the equivalent energy, throwing his hands up in the air. 

“‘Bout time you showed your face around here,” Niall shakes a finger at the man, but from the large grin on Niall’s face, Louis guesses that he’s not anything but happy to see Harry walking through his door. As if Louis wasn’t convinced earlier just by his grandparents’ feelings towards Harry, he can easily tell that Harry’s a favorite in this town. He doesn’t blame anyone for that— in fact, Harry’s easily one of his favorites as well. 

“I know, I know,” Harry laughs, walking up to the bar and leaving Louis to follow him. He does, of course, and when Niall realizes that Louis’ with him, he raises an eyebrow towards Harry before just about throwing himself over the bar counter with his hand out. 

“Niall Horan, pleasure to meet ya,” the bartender greets with a wide smile, glancing between the two of them. “You didn’t tell me you were seein’—”

“Louis, this is Niall, my best friend since forever. Niall, this is Louis, _Evelyn’s grandson_ ,” Harry clears his throat, taking his hat off and placing it on top of the bar. When Louis glances towards him, he swears he can see Harry’s cheeks tinting red. 

“Nice to meet you,” Louis returns, shaking the blonde boy’s hand and offering a smile. 

“You’re the writer!” Niall beams excitedly, slinging the rag over his shoulder. “That novel of yours— I talked your grandmother’s ear off about it. So good. This is a dream come true— I’m meetin’ a celebrity,” he laughs, tapping his hand on the counter. 

“Definitely not a celebrity,” Louis laughs, cheeks pink. 

“He’s a New York Times Best Seller,” Harry adds, motioning towards Louis, and God, Louis doesn’t know how many times he’s going to have to explain this concept. He might as well give up now. 

“So, a celebrity,” Niall laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Celebrities don’t come around Jackson, y’know. You two hungry? It’s on the house— get as much as ya want,” the man insists, and before Louis can answer, Harry’s tugging the stool back for Louis to sit. Smiling, Louis sits himself down quietly, allowing Niall to hand him a menu while Harry sits close beside him. 

It doesn’t take them long to decide on what they’re having for lunch. Harry insists that Louis has to try Niall’s very infamous Jackson Burger, and he doesn’t leave much room for argument. By the way Niall’s face lights up when Louis orders it and promises him that it’ll be the best burger he’s ever had, Louis doesn’t regret his order.

Twenty minutes later, and a few bites into his burger, Louis actually does believe Niall’s claim of it being the best burger he’ll ever have. Niall looks ecstatic when he tells him so, celebrating with a fist pump in the air. 

“You likin’ Jackson yet?” Harry teases, raising an eyebrow a few minutes later when Niall’s found himself distracted with other bar customers. 

Louis rolls his eyes at the question, knowing that he’ll never hear the end of this from Harry. “I never said I didn’t like Jackson,” he points out, shaking his head. He does love Jackson— he’ll always have very fond memories of it from when he was a child, and he really does love visiting his grandparents when he’s able to make it out here. It’s not that he doesn’t like Jackson, it’s just more of a temporary visit and vacation for him than anything else. 

“Ah, no. Just that it bored ya,” Harry mocks after swallowing his bite. 

“It’s not boring— it’s just different,” Louis defends himself from the smug smirk on Harry’s face, laughing as he places his burger down. “Jackson’s just a big difference from what I’m used to. Everything moves a lot… _slower_ ,” he explains.

Harry raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Yeah? What’s so different in that pretty city of yours, then?”

Louis snorts. The list of things that are similar between New York and Wyoming would be a lot easier to say, he thinks. He’s not sure that the list of reasons New York and Wyoming are so different will ever be finished. But he’s sure he could try.

For one, he relies on public transportation and his own feet in the city. Neither he nor Zayn own a car, and although he’s thought about it— it would be useful out in Brooklyn, he supposes— he gets around just fine by the subway, train, or bus. For the most part, though, he’s just happy not to be directly contributing to air pollution via his lack of a car. That, and he’ll never stop helping people jump the subway turnstiles without getting caught, and swiping his metrocard for them when they’re in a station where it’s impossible. 

Another thing is the differing personalities he finds between both states. It’s not even that New Yorkers are indifferent towards others— he’d die on the hill that New Yorkers care about each other more than any other city in the world. But it’s the fact that here in the small town of Jackson, everyone knows everyone’s business. As amusing as it is for Louis to hear his grandmother go on about the business of all her neighbors, he doesn’t think he’d last. He barely knew his neighbor in the apartment above him and Zayn before they moved out recently. He doesn’t need to keep up with _everyone_ in the borough, thank you. 

Just from the way that everyone reacts to Harry’s presence here, Louis can easily guess that Harry’s one of those people who also knows everyone’s business. 

“There’s always something going on— even at three in the morning,” Louis points out, sipping at his water. “Especially in the subway— there’s always a mini-concert going on.”

“I reckon I don’t even wanna know what people could be doin’ at three in the mornin’,” Harry laughs. “I’d like to be sleepin’ during that time.” 

“There’s no traffic out here,” Louis adds, raising an eyebrow. “Nobody’s in a rush to get anywhere,” he says.

Harry grins. “You’re sayin’ that like it’s a bad thing.” 

Louis rolls his eyes lightly. He moves way too quickly to humor the slow pace of Wyoming. New York is just the rush that he needs— even on the days he’s feeling down and unmotivated, he loves the never-stopping ambience of Manhattan around him. 

“We definitely don’t wear any of _those_ back in New York,” Louis decides to poke fun then, tipping his head towards the Wrangler ad in the shop window across the street, through the glass windows of Niall’s bar. If he sees any Wrangler jeans in New York, it’s usually from NYU kids who’ve thrifted and flipped them only to sell them for two times the price on Depop. 

“What? Wranglers?” Harry frowns, glancing down at his own battered blue jeans. By the look on Harry’s face, Louis doesn’t have to ask if they’re what he’s wearing. He won’t admit it, won’t allow his eyes to drift over Harry’s body, but Harry makes the jeans work. Even as stereotypically western as he dresses, Harry manages to make it look good. “I like them,” Harry adds then, catching Louis’ attention and distracting him from giving Harry a once-over. Thank God. “Besides, the roomier the jeans the better,” Harry shrugs his shoulders smugly. 

_The roomier the better_. Louis frowns, hesitant to ask. It’s cowboy land, though, and Louis isn’t blind enough to not realize what some of these men are carrying in their pockets. “Is it normal for everyone to carry out here?” It’s been a while since Louis’ stayed at his grandparents’ for more than a Christmas dinner. When he was a teenager, he definitely didn’t go around trying to count how many guns he could see. But he knows it’s _Wyoming_ , and he can’t exactly say he expects the state to have any sort of restrictive laws. 

Harry smirks, resting his hands on his thighs. “Wasn’t talking about room for a gun, sweetheart.”

It only takes a moment for Louis to realize what exactly Harry is talking about, what exactly he needs room for in his pants, his cheeks reddening quicker than he’d like to admit. 

“Everything okay over here?” Niall comes bouncing over, grinning between Harry and Louis on the other side of the bar. Louis’ just relieved to have an excuse to look away from Harry, a reason to keep his eyes from glancing over Harry’s crotch. It’s all Harry’s fault, and it continues to be Harry’s fault when the man shuffles his seat closer to Louis _again_ , placing his dumb hand on Louis’ thigh. 

“We’re great, Ni.” Harry chirps, squeezing Louis’ thigh. Louis very purposely ignores the gesture, offering what he hopes looks like a smile towards Niall in agreement. 

Niall just grins, leaning against the bar. “Y’know what? Louis, I reckon you should come with all of us to Dollyfest,” he nods. 

“Kenny’s way ahead of you,” Harry promises through a laugh. 

Niall rolls his eyes. “Just lettin’ him know he’s double welcomed, then,” he waves Harry off, and for a second, Louis catches Niall’s eyes following the line of Harry’s arm to where his hand is still unapologetically resting on Louis’ thigh, and just as he’s about to open his mouth to mention it, Louis guesses, Louis beats him to speaking.

“Guess I can’t get out of Dollyfest, huh? Getting the idea that’s a must-see event over here,” Louis laughs out, and Niall and Harry are both quick to nod their heads, the latter finally lifting his hand off of Louis’ thigh. He can breathe again— his dick, too. 

“Dollyfest’s, like, one of the best things to happen to Jackson. Besides Jackson Hole, of course. Oh, and the Jackalope.” Niall beams, and Harry has to stifle a laugh, shaking his head as he averts his gaze.

Louis frowns. “The Jackalope?”

“Niall.” Harry warns, sending him a look that Louis guesses he thinks is supposed to be threatening.

“The Jackalope,” Niall confirms happily, pointing across the room. When Louis’ eyes follow the direction of Niall’s finger, he’s met with the framed image of what looks like a large-sized rabbit with antlers. Blinking, Louis tilts his head at the sight. He didn’t know that rabbits had antlers out here. 

“They’re an endangered species,” Niall adds on. “Part of the reason is because the State just loves selling Jackalope Hunting Licenses.”

Louis’ mouth drops open, horrified. “Wyoming lets people hunt their endangered species?” 

“Sure. But only on the first and last Monday of each month between one and four in the mornin’,” Niall shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe you’ll get to see one before you leave, huh? Better yet, maybe you can shoot one yourself.” 

Louis just stares back at Niall in horror. He wouldn’t even want to shoot a _deer._

“You’re an asshole, Horan,” Harry laughs, reaching across the bar to shove at his friend. “Nobody hunts the fuckin’ Jackalope,” he reassures Louis, rolling his eyes. “It’s not even a real fuckin’ thing.”

“Oh, thank God,” Louis chokes out just as Niall bursts into laughter, going on about the look on Louis’ face. God forbid the last thing Louis ever wanted to do was shoot some deer-rabbit hybrid. 

“Alright, we’re leavin’ now,” Harry laughs, squeezing Louis’ shoulder in comfort. “I’ve had enough of you,” he points to Niall, shaking his head. Niall just throws his hands up in defeat, waving the two off.

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall cackles, waving goodbye. “Was nice meetin’ ya, Louis! See ya at Dollyfest!”

Harry rolls his eyes once they reach the door after they’ve all bid their farewells, resting a hand on Louis’ hip as he opens the door open for him. 

“Niall’s… fun,” Louis laughs as he steps out onto the sidewalk, peering over at Harry. 

“Gonna give me a rundown on each one of my friends?” Harry teases, placing his hat back onto his head. “He’s a character, that one,” he agrees. “Fuckin’ Jackalope— should’ve expected that one. He _loves_ teasing the tourists with that one.”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “Glad to know I wasn’t the only one who fell for a rabbit with antlers.”

Harry just grins, nodding towards the historic arch. “Let’s go get you that tourist picture,” he insists. “And _no_ , it ain’t built from the antlers of Jackalopes. Those are elk antlers, thank you.” 

Louis just giggles fondly, following Harry wordlessly to the arch.

By the time they get back to Louis’ grandparents, they’re laughing through the door as Harry tries to send Louis the photos they took. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the reason to take them with Harry’s phone had just been an excuse to get Louis’ number, but, hey. As confused as this day made him feel, Louis isn’t going to complain about it. 

Louis very purposely ignores the way his grandmother raises her eyebrows from the living room when Harry hands his phone over for Louis’ number. _It’s just for the photos, it’s just for the photos, it’s just for the photos._

Harry leaves with a promise to send Louis the selfies, and Louis leaves to his bedroom with a promise not to fall for the sweet dorky cowboy. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“Oh, my goodness,” Evelyn laughs from the hallway, covering her mouth as she looks at Harry in the doorway. “What in the world are you wearin’?”

Harry grins, extending his hands out and giving a little twirl. “You like it?”

“You don’t even want to know what I’m thinkin’,” she snorts, waving Harry off. “Lou, come here, darlin’. I think someone’s ready to pick you up.”

Hearing his name, Louis makes his way down the hall, stopping mid step when he catches sight of Harry in the doorway. 

“I think I’m severely underdressed,” Louis pales, slowly pointing over his shoulder to his room. He doesn’t even think he has anything that could compare to what Harry’s wearing. 

Apart from the gleeful grin on Harry’s face, the cowboy is dressed in what Louis could only imagine is one of his best suits. Kendall really wasn’t kidding when she told them that Harry broke out his best attire for Dollyfest. Donned upon his head is a bedazzled white cowboy hat, embroidered with warm-colored flowers along the rim and front of the hat. As Louis moves his eyes downward, there’s a white-colored ascot wrapped neatly around Harry’s throat, hanging over a silky and just barely off-white blouse, collar flared out and buttons half-way undone. It’s tucked nicely into his trousers, accentuated by a golden-colored and authentic western-styled belt buckle. Laid on top is a perfectly tailored royal blue suit jacket, with matching embroidered flowers colored along the fabric. Like his hat, bounding the flowers are rhinestones embellished into the fabric. On his legs are a matching pair of royal blue flared bell bottoms, shiny brown leather boots peeking out from underneath. Rings litter over his fingers, and all Louis really wants to do is turn around and run back upstairs. Or get on his knees.

“You’re kiddin’,” Harry grins, raising an eyebrow, and Louis wants to laugh. He’s most definitely not kidding. “You look great! Niall will be here any minute,” Harry insists. 

Louis most definitely does not look great. Not when he’s stood next to a bedazzled cowboy. Glancing down at his own apparel, he had previously felt confident. He’s wearing his best jeans— he’s lucky enough that he brought them to his grandparents’— and a low-cut t-shirt that Zayn’s always complimented him on. It’s his pulling outfit when they go out in Chelsea for a drink. The only thing about his outfit that feels rather authentic and fitting for the night are the cowboy boots that Louis’ had hidden away for the past few years. Before seeing Harry, he thought he looked rather cute. 

“Please don’t tell me Niall’s going to show up like that too,” Louis sighs, finally finding it inside of himself to fully make his way through the doorway and into the hallway to where Harry is standing with Evelyn, who’s still giggling to herself as she looks between them. 

Harry laughs, shaking his head as if the idea’s crazy. “No, this is my thing,” he promises, and Louis’ not too sure if he can trust him at this point. 

“I thought this was a _festival_. I thought people would wear neon face paint and ugly flannels,” Louis groans, running a hand over his face. “You look like a bedazzled Clint Eastwood,” he pouts.

Harry grimaces, looking mildly offended by the comparison. “Not Eastwood,” he frowns, taking a glance down at his attire. “ _Rhinestone Cowboy_ , anyone? Glen Campbell?”

Evelyn just laughs, shaking her head. “You two have fun, alright? Be safe,” she insists, and as she passes Louis on her way into the living room, Louis tries not to notice her winking at him. 

Fortunately enough, before Louis can complain once again over feeling so underdressed, a truck is pulling up their driveway, headlights already bright as they shine against the front of the ranch. 

“You’ll have fun,” Harry smiles, sincere, before he grabs Louis’ hand and practically drags him out of his grandparents’ house. He’s not too sure how much fun he’s going to have, but he appreciates the effort from Harry. 

When Harry opens the door to the truck, three people are sitting up on the front bench seat. Niall’s in the driver’s seat and Louis recognizes Kendall in the passenger’s seat, and there’s another pretty brunette haired girl between the two of them, and Louis almost misses it, but she’s subtly holding hands with Kendall, and well. Maybe Louis has drastically misperceived Harry’s friend group. 

In the back seat, there’s two men, one with long dark-hair and the other short and wavy, both donned in flannels that Louis would rightfully claim as ugly. He knew it.

“After you,” Harry grins, motioning Louis towards the door. The smaller boy hesitates, ready to grumble about being squeezed into an already half-taken middle seat, but as soon as Harry’s hand is on his waist and guiding him inside of the truck, he can’t find the words to argue. 

“ _Rhinestone Cowboy_ ’s back, baby,” Niall whistles, clumsily reaching over the back seat to fist-bump Harry. 

“You’re insane,” giggles the girl sat in the middle seat, glancing back at Harry once he’s climbed into the truck and his body is snug against Louis’ side. Louis isn’t going to be able to stop thinking about that for the rest of the car ride. “He always does this,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her body to peer back at Louis and offering him a friendly smile. “I’m Kacey. Sorry you’re stuck with ‘im,” she says. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry laughs, sliding a hand onto Louis’ thigh, and Jesus, is that really necessary? 

“Louis,” he replies to Kacey once he’s able to ignore the warmth from Harry’s large palm enveloping his thigh.

“I think he thinks Dolly’s gonna show up herself one of these summers and take notice of him,” she giggles. 

“I like the sparkles,” Kendall chimes in.

“Of course you do, darlin’,” Kacey giggles, pushing at the other girl’s shoulder. 

“Does Dolly show up here?” Louis asks. He really should’ve put something nicer on. 

“Not unless you’re going to Dollywood,” the boy on the other side of Louis laughs. 

“That’s where Mitch met the Queen of Country herself,” Niall says, pointing his thumb back at the long-haired man squeezed into the corner of the backseat while simultaneously pulling out of Louis’ grandparents’ driveway. 

“Harry still hasn’t forgiven him for it,” the boy next to him tells Louis. 

“‘Cause I was supposed to go with him and he went without me, Liam,” Harry grunts back, leaning back against the seat. 

“That sounds like it was more of your fault than Mitch’s,” Liam rolls his eyes. 

“It was a quick meetin’! Tellin’ you, she doesn’t remember me,” Mitch sighs from the side of the car. 

“Enough about Dolly,” Kendall waves the boys off. The irony when they’re on their way to a festival named after her, Louis thinks. “We’re makin’ this a fun experience for Louis, alright? I bet there’s no Dollyfests in Boston.”

“Manhattan,” Louis coughs. 

Kendall frowns, and Louis feels bad only for a second. 

“We have Governor’s Ball,” he says, shrugging his shoulders slightly. He’s barely able to move an inch from where he’s squeezed snug between Liam and Harry. Liam seems like he’s trying to give Louis as much space as he can, being mindful of sharing the leg room, while Harry on the other hand, seems like he’s getting closer and closer to Louis with every passing moment. And his damn hand hasn’t left Louis’ thigh. “But I don’t know if Dolly would ever headline that,” he adds, and he hears Harry stifle a laugh beside him. 

“What?” He frowns, turning his head. 

Harry shakes his head, moving a hand to do a half-assed attempt at hiding his smile. “Nothin’. You’re cute, that’s all.” 

“Enough flirting back there. I’m already gaggin’ with these two up here,” Niall glares at the two of them from the rearview mirror. Louis’ cheeks tint pink at the call out, quickly fixating on the two girls in the front seat. 

He and Harry are not flirting. 

“How long have you two been dating?” Louis asks, and Kendall grins at the question. 

“It was three years last week,” she answers easily, smiling at Kacey besides her.

“And we’re getting married next fall,” Kacey adds, happily extending her hand out to Louis to show off her ring. 

Louis grins, shaking his head in disbelief. He can’t help but to be happy for the couple, especially so when there was a time where Louis was convinced that the only gay pride flag in the whole state of Wyoming was hung on his grandparents’ porch. He’s ecstatic that’s not the case, though. 

“Congratulations,” Louis says, and he can’t control the smile on his face. “That’s beautiful— I’m so happy for you both.” It’s honest— he’s barely known Kacey for more than a few minutes, and Kendall for more than a day, but he’s so happy for them. 

“If you’re around next fall, consider this an invite, city boy,” Kendall tells him, a bright smile on her own face. 

Twenty minutes later, after they’ve all scrambled for cash for parking, and Harry’s started mumbling about how a temporary piece of real estate shouldn’t be monetized, they’re finally at Dollyfest. 

He understands quickly that whatever Dollyfest is, it’s the real deal. Although not publicly recognized by Miss Dolly Parton herself, the festival-goers treat it like it’s the best festival dedicated to Dolly Parton of all time.

For most of the night, Louis finds himself with Kendall, Kacey, and Niall, with Harry not too far behind. Liam’s gone off to meet up with other friends for the time being, and Mitch, well. Louis learns that nobody really ever knows where Mitch goes off to. In Harry’s words, sometimes they don’t even know where he’s gone when he’s physically right with them. Part of Louis just thinks Harry’s still bitter that Mitch met Dolly Parton without him. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. 

“What’s goin’ on with you and Styles?” Kacey leans forward halfway through the night, when they’ve finally sat down at a table outside one of the town bars and they’re all nursing their drinks, watching the crowd dance along to the current cover artist on stage. It’s not Dolly, but Louis doesn’t think they’re too bad either. 

“Was just gonna ask the same thing,” Kendall grins from the other side of her fiancé, peering over at Louis. “There’s something goin’ on, ain’t there?” She pushes, raising a curious and bold eyebrow. 

Louis’ cheeks pinken, and his hand stops from where it had been lifting his margarita up for a drink. “We’re not— he’s just being nice,” he insists, glancing to where Niall and Harry are chatting to a mutual friend at the tail of the crowd. The night’s still young, and Louis is actually having a lot more fun than he had expected himself to. Nobody can resist a good Dolly Parton festival, of course. Not even Louis. 

“I don’t know,” Kendall hums in disbelief. “I reckon he’s interested in you. Even the other day when you two came into the store— trust me, I’ve known H for a long time,” she sips at her drink, nodding her head along with her words. 

Louis frowns slightly, inspecting his drink quietly. Part of him thinks it’s ironic that at the same time Kendall was thinking Harry was into him, he had been convinced that she and Harry were a thing. He’s not going to bring that up now, even if there’s a good chance they’ll all laugh about it.

It also serves to confirm that Harry isn’t as straight as he thought. He doesn’t exactly know what to do with that information right now. 

He’ll leave that to think about at night, when he’s alone. 

“I’m not really looking for anything right now,” Louis shakes his head, letting out a slight laugh. “M’only here for the summer. Don’t need to get caught up in some summer romance.” As tempting as a hook-up or fling might be, especially with Hot Cowboy, Louis cannot allow himself to get distracted. But God, it’s hard to resist when it comes to Harry, he’s learning rather quickly. 

Kacey laughs, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. I reckon you’d be missing out,” she teases. “Doesn’t have to be anything serious, y’know. But Harry’s a good guy.” 

_So I’ve been told_ , Louis thinks. It’s all his grandmother says. Harry this, Harry that. He’s an angel of a man, sent from the heavens, she’s certain. It’s just getting ridiculous at this point. 

“I still think he’s totally into you,” Kendall promises, grinning as she leans into her fiancé’s space to look over at Louis. “He was all over you in the car. I wasn’t even sittin’ back there and I could see it! He likes you!” 

Louis can’t stop the heat that spreads across his cheeks when he remembers the feeling of Harry’s palm enveloping his thigh in the back seat. What was the reason? 

“Nothing’s going on,” Louis repeats through a laugh, taking another sip of his drink before he manages to make a fool out of himself. 

“What’s goin’ on?” 

Kendall and Kacey giggle from the side when Louis’ cheeks heat up again at the sound of Harry’s voice, peering up to see Harry standing with them at the bar. With an eyebrow raised and a playful grin on his face, he looks like he’s genuinely wondering what they’d been talking about after only catching Louis’ last words.

“Nothing,” Louis repeats, ignoring the way the girls giggle again. Between them and his grandparents, Louis is going to go insane, he’s convinced. 

“Nothin’,” Harry parrots back teasingly, sparing a glance towards the girls curiously. There’s a smirk on his face, as if he’s pairing the blush on Louis’ cheeks and the giggles from the couple together, catching onto something. He doesn’t bother to question it further, instead offering another grin towards Louis. “C’mere. Can’t have you sittin’ on the sidelines the whole night. Everyone’s dancin’,” he grins, holding out his hand and tipping his hat forward with his other hand. 

Louis would be swooning if he wasn’t mortified. 

Louis blinks, shaking his head. “Oh, _no—_ I can’t dance,” he laughs, holding his drink closer to his chest. 

Harry rolls his eyes, grinning. “Sure, you can,” he insists, motioning for Louis to take his hand. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

It’s Kacey who grabs Louis’ drink from him and gives him a little shove off of the bar stool, grinning towards him when he looks back in a huff of protest. “Have fun,” she giggles. 

He most certainly will not be having any fun.

It turns out that Louis actually doesn’t have a say in what comes next, though, since Harry takes that as a yes, grabbing Louis’ hand and pulling him towards the crowd near the stage. 

“I _really_ don’t dance,” Louis warns, but he still allows himself to be dragged along. He has no control over his body at this point. 

“So?” Harry grins, raising an eyebrow. He’s tipsy if not drunk already, Louis notes from the light flush on Harry’s face. “You learn to dance. I’m not askin’ you to be the next Pavlova,” he teases, putting a hand on Louis’ hip. 

Sighing, Louis allows himself to be pulled closer, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. It pains him to go along with this. 

“Take the reins, Cowboy.” 

Five shots, four new cover artists, and three renditions of “9 to 5” later, somehow Louis ends up at the tail of the crowd, still struggling to learn the stupid country swing Harry’s trying to teach him. Harry’s hand is heavy on his waist, Louis’ one hand still resting on Harry’s shoulder while his other is entwined with Harry’s. 

“No,” Harry chuckles, large palms reaching out then and framing Louis’ hips, successfully dragging them back towards him. “You’ve got to— more hip action, _yeah_ ,” he tells Louis, taking the smaller boy’s hands once again.

Louis squints, pretty certain he doesn’t remember hips being an important body part to move during any sort of dance he learned as a child. But he’s drunk and not about to complain when Harry’s hands are dragging his hips flush against Harry’s in an attempt to maneuver Louis into the correct dancing positions.

“C’mon, you’ve almost got it,” Harry says, side-stepping with the boy. When Louis glances around the area, there’s not too many couples— ahem, _dance partners_ — who are as close as he and Harry are at the moment. 

“Practically a natural?” Louis suggests, twisting in Harry’s hold and finding himself with his chest flush against Harry’s. He’s momentarily distracted by the light sheen of sweat on Harry’s chest, illuminated by the bright fairy lights decorating the festival grounds. He doesn’t even register Harry’s response in his head, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. 

He likes to think he has better self control than this. But when he’s getting drink after drink bought for him and he’s forced to dance up close and personal with the very same Hot Cowboy that’s been the star of his late-night thirst-dreams, he can’t be blamed for losing control like this. 

If anything, it’s Harry’s fault. 

“Mine now,” Louis says, plucking Harry’s hat off of his head and very pointedly ignoring the smug smirk on Harry’s lips. So, Louis’ not as subtle as he thinks. Fixing the hat on his head, Louis pushes his hands flat against Harry’s chest in an attempt to place some space between them. The last thing he needs to do is cause some conservative Dolly Parton fans an aneurysm. 

“A real cowboy now, ain’t you?” Harry raises an eyebrow challengingly, and Louis just allows himself to twirl out with their hands tied once again, continuing his very pathetic attempt at learning the swing. “There we go! Lookin’ good now,” Harry cheers, and Louis can’t hold back the giggle that escapes him on his way back to Harry’s chest. He’s absolutely sure he looks like an idiot, but the proud smile on Harry’s face makes Louis feel warm. 

_Cowgirl, maybe..._ Louis muses thoughtfully in response to Harry’s earlier suggestion. _Like the position_ , he thinks. 

When he looks up, Harry has a half-amused, half almost shocked expression on his face. “Ain’t sure we’re talking about the same kind of riding here, sweetheart,” he says.

Louis blinks. Well shit, he said that out loud, didn’t he?

It’s the alcohol that takes over and answers for him. Or maybe it’s his exhausting attraction towards the man in front of him— but either way Louis will not take ownership of this when he wakes up tomorrow morning.

“I haven’t ridden a horse in years,” Louis answers, bringing his hand up to rest on Harry’s bicep as he tries not to trip over his feet before Harry dips him. “I’ve rode _other_ things since then,” he manages to get out when he’s pulled back onto his feet, laughing. 

Trailing his gaze up, Louis almost misses the hard swallow from Harry. Pleased with himself, he tips his head up, careful not to knock the cowboy hat off of his head.

“Like a bike?” Harry challenges, but there’s a roughness to his voice and a hint of a smirk to his lips that suggest he’s definitely not thinking about a _bike_. 

Louis grins, eyes crinkling as he’s twirled again. On his way back into Harry’s arms, he lifts his head up just enough that Harry feels Louis’ breath against his lips. “Like the _subway_ ,” Louis murmurs, just loud enough that Harry will hear him over the never-ending Dolly Parton music. 

Harry barks out a laugh at that, and Louis smiles, pleased with himself as he steps in time along to the music with Harry, allowing himself to be spun once again. 

“Not sure if that’s all you’ve ridden,” Harry says boldly, and Louis smirks, opening his mouth to respond. Wouldn’t he like to know?

“H, man,” Niall’s voice is behind them suddenly, and Louis has to bite back a whine when Harry slowly pulls away from him, leaving him dizzy in more than one sense. So close. “Mitch is _hammered_ , he almost— you ain’t even wanna know what he almost fuckin’ did,” Niall cackles, waving his arm around in hysterics. “If you still want a ride, we’re headin’ out. Liam and the girls are helping him back to the truck now.”

“Yeah, ‘course. We’ve had our fun for the night,” Harry decides, and Louis can’t control the pout on his face, ready to protest. They’ve most definitely have not had their fun tonight. Louis’ had fun, a great load of fun, sure, but something makes him want to end the night on his knees in nothing but Harry’s stupid cowboy hat. 

That something (or someone, he should say) may or may not be Harry Styles himself. 

Louis can’t even protest to stay for another song, because just as soon as Harry’s dragging him away from the crowd, it’s announced that Dollyfest has come to a close for the night. Reluctantly, Louis finds himself in the car with the rest of Harry’s friends ten minutes later after the three of them have maneuvered their way out of the crowd and exited the fairgrounds. He wouldn’t say his mood is dampened— he’s had a lot of fun, sure— but he also can’t say that he’s very happy to have his night ending so soon. Especially when Harry snakes an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him into his lap five minutes into the drive. Louis’ just the right side of drunk to not be shy about it, and looking out of the window a couple of minutes later with Harry’s fingers trailing patterns into his hip, just above the waistband of his jeans, Louis can’t help but wish the night’s never going to end. Harry’s chatting away to Liam about something, probably cowboy related, but Louis is neither listening nor does he care, instead focusing on the fingers still sitting on his bare skin. He wiggles in his seat, stilling immediately in shock when the fingers on his hip go from feather light to harsh and unforgiving, grip iron-tight. It takes a second for Louis to remember his seat is actually Harry’s dick. Stifling a giggle, he keeps his eyes to the road whipping past outside, feigning innocence as his alcohol-infused mind instills enough confidence in him to test the water and wiggle again. Harry chokes off mid-sentence, placing both hands on Louis’ hips and squeezing tightly. It’s a warning, Louis knows it is, and he glances back at Harry, eyes innocent. Harry’s eyes are anything but, blazed and dark, staring back at him, hard and focused.

“Actually, you can drop me off with Louis. Save yourself a trip,” Harry says a few minutes later, tapping the back of the front bench seat. 

“Drivin’ a tractor still counts as drivin’ while drunk, Styles,” Niall narrows his eyes through the rearview mirror. 

Harry laughs, his other hand trailing just over the waistband of Louis’ jeans, firm against his tummy. “I reckon I’m not drunk enough to fall while walkin’ home,” the cowboy promises. 

It turns out that Louis’ house is the last stop for Niall, and at this point, Louis is relieved when he’s able to climb out of the truck and off of Harry’s lap after thanking Niall for driving. 

“I’ll see ya later,” Harry waves him off when Niall pulls out of Louis’ driveway, waiting until Niall’s truck is out of sight before he’s turning to face Louis who is already standing on the porch, a warm house light being the only source of illumination around the two of them. 

Coming towards the porch, Harry stops just before he reaches the third and final step, shoving his hands into his pockets. He smiles, and Louis’ not sure how he can go from sex god to endearing in a matter of minutes. 

“You had fun, didn’t you?” Harry asks, and Louis isn’t sure if Harry’s trying to stall. He thinks it’s obvious he had fun, but he also doesn’t want to watch Harry walk away either. 

Louis smiles, shifting his weight. “Hard not to have fun at Dollyfest,” he answers. “I like your friends, and now I can line dance!” Louis grins, kicking his foot out and staying very focused on not toppling over. 

“Swing,” Harry corrects, laughing as he takes the final step up the porch and reaches out to steady Louis by his waist. 

“Swing,” Louis repeats, playfully tipping his hat at Harry. “With a lot of hip action.”

Harry bites back a smile. “A lot of dancin’ stems from the hips,” he argues. 

Louis hums. “Grinding and twerking, maybe.”

“I’d argue that twerkin’ is mainly focused on the ass,” Harry laughs. 

“And I’d argue you just wanted an excuse to have your hands on my hips,” Louis returns. Harry barks out a laugh, clearly surprised by Louis’ bluntness. “Can’t even get your hands off me now,” he grins, nodding down to where Harry’s hand is still barely holding his waist steady. When Louis looks back up, Harry’s suddenly closer. He’s not really upset with that. 

“You gotta tell me if I’m readin’ you all wrong here,” Harry warns. Louis doesn’t think the smirk on Harry’s face ever disappears. 

“I _reckon_ you are,” Louis mocks, wrapping his fingers loosely around the ends of Harry’s ascot. “‘Cause if you were reading me _right_ , you would’ve kissed me hours ago.”

Fortunately, it doesn’t take much more for Harry to get the hint, because the next thing Louis knows, Harry’s lips are on his own. Harry’s mustache tickles his skin, and it’s everything Louis didn’t know he ever wanted. On the other hand, Harry kisses like he’s imagined— his lips are soft against his own, taking control of the kiss like it’s second nature to them. There’s no awkward pace, and maybe part of that’s due to the alcohol they’ve consumed tonight, but Louis likes to believe that they’re just meant to be doing this. 

Shaking the thought out of his head, Louis decides that he’s not going to let his mind wander into dangerous places like that. He doesn’t need to think about how perfect Harry’s lips feel against his own, how Harry’s hands on his waist feel like they’re two puzzle pieces meant to fit together. Thoughts like those only lead to disappointment, to things Louis can’t have. And considering how much he wants to have Harry kissing him all night, those thoughts are anything but welcome.

Breathless, Louis tips his head back in a little drunk giggle, palms flat against Harry’s chest as he trails his hands up and down Harry’s suit lapels. “Inside,” he grips the fabric of the stupid cowboy jacket, attempting to walk them backwards until his shoulder bumps the front door. “You’re not going home,” he tells Harry, smiling through the kiss Harry tries to press to his lips. 

“Didn’t peg you for bossy,” Harry grins, and when there’s no argument in favor of going home, Louis can’t get the front door open fast enough. He’s drunk off of both alcohol and Harry, and it’s a miracle that he makes it inside without stumbling over his feet. 

If he was sober, Louis thinks he’d feel a little embarrassed by the way he basically drags Harry through the hall and up to his bedroom, shutting the door as soon as they’re both inside. He only has a second to toss Harry’s hat off of his head, landing somewhere on the side of the room that Louis doesn’t care to check. 

It doesn’t matter anyway since Harry crowds him against the door the minute he takes the hat off. His hands come up to cradle Louis’ face, cold metal pressing against Louis’ hot skin, before Harry’s capturing Louis’ lips with his own. Louis can’t help the way he goes pliant in the kiss, hands finding purchase on Harry’s shirt once more. 

“God,” Harry groans into the kiss, voice rougher than it had been only a minute ago. The sound of it sparks heat deep in Louis’ tummy, and all Louis wants is _more_. He wants Harry’s hands all over him, he wants Harry’s lips on his own, kissing him until his lips are bruised, and as lovely as Harry’s fingers feel on his jaw, cradling his face, he really just wants to feel Harry’s fingers deep inside of him. 

“Bed,” Louis breathes, fingers working over the few buttons that are clasped on Harry’s silky dress shirt. “Bed, bed, bed,” he chants against Harry’s lips when the man doesn’t react fast enough the first time. 

It’s Harry that walks them backwards to Louis’ bed, and as soon as Harry’s sat on the edge of his bed, he doesn’t waste a second before he’s straddling Harry’s lap. “I actually like the suit,” he breathes against Harry’s lips, nipping gently at the man’s lower lip. “But I’d rather you take it off.”

Harry just laughs, groaning. “Not gonna argue with that,” he mumbled into their kiss. Reluctantly, Louis climbs off of him to shuck his own boots off, making quick work of taking off his shirt as well. 

It’s not very long before Harry’s tossed his belt to the floor, apologizing through quiet laughter when the metal clattered against the floor. “Fuck,” he laughs, kicking off his own boots and tossing his suit jacket and shirt to the side. 

“So fucking loud,” Louis whines through a laugh, but he’s happily shut up when Harry climbs over him, the broader man enveloping him as he hovers over Louis. 

“Shut up,” Harry huffs, biting along his jaw. Louis wishes he could hold back the whine he makes from the feeling, his hand coming up to blindly untie Harry’s ascot. 

“Tell me you’ve got a condom,” Harry grunts into his skin, and Louis almost pales for a second before he nods his head, tossing the little piece of fabric to the floor. 

“In the drawer,” Louis breathes out, carelessly waving his hand towards the bedside table. Harry’s quick to lean over and rummage through Louis’ drawer, fishing out the small bottle of lube and a condom. Even in his drunken haze, Louis feels a little silly for it— as much as he’s not complaining right now, he hadn’t at all been expecting to get fucked here, let alone in his grandparents’ house. But there’s always the _chance_ , right? Sue Louis for wanting to be _safe_. 

He’s purposely not noticing how his bottle of lube is a little more than half empty either, and purposely doesn’t think about the few sex toys he’s made use of recently. Instead, while he waits, he works on getting his jeans and boxers off, too turned on and drunk to be shy about being completely naked in front of Harry. For the most part, the bedroom is pretty dark, save for moonlight shining through the large set of windows Louis never bothers to close and a small warm-lit lamp in the corner. 

“God,” Harry’s voice brings Louis’ attention back, blue eyes slowly trailing over Harry’s chest. It’s not the first time he’s seen him shirtless— God knows Harry doesn’t know how to properly button his shirts most days— but it’s the first time that Louis’ actually been able to stare without worrying over having a slur thrown his way. Not that he thought that lowly of Harry, but. It’s _Wyoming_. 

Regardless, it’s the first time Louis’ paid attention to the giant moth tattoo centered on Harry’s stomach, and he can’t do anything but tip his head back in a giggle.

“What in the world are you laughin’ at?” Harry accuses, but he’s laughing himself, even with his eyebrows furrowed together in offense. He stands up from the bed then, shoving his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion (honestly, Louis’ impressed), and Louis abruptly chokes on his giggle when Harry’s cock slaps up against his stomach. He’s hard already, just as hard as Louis is, he thinks, and he’s _big_. 

Louis can already anticipate the pain he’s going to be in the morning, but that doesn’t stop his mouth from watering. And it surely doesn’t stop him from wanting Harry inside of him right this very moment. 

Harry seems to notice Louis’ frozen gaze on his crotch then, clearing his throat as if he’s realized Louis’ brain has short-circuited just from Harry taking his pants off. When Louis finally tears his eyes away and looks up to meet Harry’s gaze, his cheeks turn hot at the smirk on Harry’s face. 

“You alright down there?” Harry teases, climbing back onto the bed, and Louis wants to glare. He’d be a lot better if Harry was fucking him.

Before Louis can answer, Harry’s tapping gently at Louis’ hip before attempting to maneuver him so he’s laying on his stomach. Louis isn’t too crazy about the position, only because he can’t stare at Harry’s cock anymore. But if it’s going to get him fucked quicker, he’ll bite his tongue.

Fortunately for both of them, Harry’s lube-covered finger breaches his hole, pushing inside without any hesitation. Louis closes his eyes, resting his cheek on his arm and allowing himself to focus on the feeling of Harry’s finger inside of him. 

He learns quickly that Harry likes taking his time. Even when they’re drunk, barely able to contain themselves on the porch just a few minutes ago, Harry isn’t moving quickly by the time he pushes a second finger inside. Part of Louis appreciates it for the sole fact of Harry’s monster size, but he has a feeling that regardless of what hangs between the man’s legs, Harry would still be meticulous with opening him up. 

Fortunately, two fingers become three fingers, and when Harry hits his prostate, he doesn’t relent. Instead, Harry’s very focused on keeping his fingers pressed snug up against the nerve. Biting down on his arm to keep himself from crying out, Louis pushes his hips into the mattress, both in an attempt to get some friction on his own cock and try to squirm away from the constant pressure on his prostate. 

“Please,” Louis whimpers brokenly, muffled by his arm. 

“Please, what, kitten?” Harry asks, voice cocky, and Louis can’t stop himself from whimpering into his arm as Harry continues to thrust his fingers right into his prostate. 

“Fuck me, please. Don’t wanna come like this,” he relents, his cock pulsing between his stomach and the mattress. He’s almost there, could probably come just from rutting against the bed with Harry’s fingers inside of him, but he’d very much like to come with Harry’s cock inside of him.

Harry doesn’t answer, but he pulls his fingers away just slightly from the boy’s prostate. Louis doesn’t know whether to cry in relief or frustration. A mixture of both, he decides. 

“Still so fuckin’ tight, baby. Squeezin’ my fingers together,” Harry groans, and the mattress squeaks beneath them as Harry shifts behind Louis. “Gonna fuck you, promise. Think you can give me two? Get you all loose and relaxed for me,” Harry murmurs, and Louis could cry. 

“Okay,” is all Louis can manage out, and with that, Harry’s fingers are thrusting in quickly again, concentrating and succeeding in slamming against his prostate as he stretches the smaller boy open. When Louis feels Harry’s pinkie finger try to slide right alongside his three others, Louis comes with a high-pitched cry into his arm. 

He clutches desperately at the pillow underneath him as Harry’s fingers fuck him through his orgasm, and it’s not too long before Harry’s fingers are leaving him empty. He’s only upset about the sudden emptiness until he hears the familiar sound of a condom wrapper being torn open behind him. 

With the little bit of strength he has at the moment, Louis pushes himself onto his back to reposition himself. Cum is smeared over his belly, and he’s sure there’s a mess underneath him right now too, but his attention is too focused on the way Harry’s hand is rolling the condom over his cock and spreading lube generously over his hard length. Louis feels like he could cry just from the sight.

“So slow,” Louis complains, knocking his leg against Harry’s side in an attempt to grab his attention. Harry chuckles at the boy, shaking his head as he climbs up, hovering over Louis. 

“Impatient,” Harry tsks, cock bobbing against Louis’ hip as he grins down at him. Louis swallows thickly at the weight of it, how heavy and thick it feels just on hip alone. Part of him is thankful Harry already had him come already, as he has a feeling that he wouldn’t have lasted more than a second once Harry pushed inside. 

“Inside, please,” Louis begs, and fortunately enough for Louis, that’s all it takes for Harry to listen and give him what he wants. Bracing his weight on his arms, Harry pushes inside of Louis, both gasping at the sudden feeling. 

Harry’s barely gotten more than the tip of his cock inside of Louis, and Louis’ eyes are already watering at the intensity. He’s overwhelmed with how stretched he feels around Harry, and by the way Harry’s face twists up, he can tell that Harry’s feeling the same way.

Louis’ hands move into Harry’s hair as Harry continues to push inside, Louis offering nothing more than little whines and gasps as Harry’s cock enters deeper and deeper inside of him. He feels like he’s being split open in the best way possible.

He tries to be quiet when Harry bottoms out and starts to move, but it’s impossibly hard, especially considering he’s already had most of his sense fucked out of him from his first orgasm. Harry’s pounding into him, grunting with every thrust of his hips, and briefly, Louis figures that it’s just as hard for Harry to keep quiet too. 

Harry was right, though, Harry’s cock hasn’t gotten any smaller, but it’s a little easier for Louis to take now that his body is a little more pliant and relaxed. Regardless, it’s still intense, and with every slap of Harry’s hips against Louis’ ass, Louis isn’t too sure if he’s going to last very long this second time around. 

“C’mon, baby,” Harry groans, capturing Louis’ lips in a heated kiss. Between the relentless pressure and pace of Harry’s hips and the friction of Harry’s stomach against Louis’ cock trapped between them, Louis knows he isn’t going to last very long. He feels so very full, so very well-fucked, and just content. 

So, it isn’t surprising for Louis when he can feel the familiar heat pooling up in his belly for the second time that night, gasping against Harry’s lips as his orgasm takes over his body, the smaller boy shaking underneath Harry and his toes curling involuntarily. 

With a few more thrusts at what feels like double speed, slamming against Louis’ prostate harder and harder, Harry’s closing his eyes tightly as he comes into the condom, his cock deep inside of the smaller boy and his face pressing into Louis’ neck. 

Louis isn’t sure how long they lay there for, too fucked out of his mind to focus on anything that could be happening around him. It’s Harry that moves first, slowly pushing himself up and pulling out of the smaller boy. Louis bites back a whimper at the loss of feeling full for the second time that night, closing his eyes as he focuses on trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t even realize Harry’s gone to grab tissues to clean them up until he feels the bed dip again. 

“Stay,” Louis mumbles out sleepily, exhaustion taking over his spent body. However awkward it is in the morning, they’ll deal with it. For now, Louis just wants to feel Harry’s body heat against him. That, and he doesn’t like the idea of Harry walking home at this hour intoxicated, no matter how safe the town is and how much Harry’s able to handle his own.

Eyes closed, Louis can feel Harry smile against his shoulder from where he’s practically blanketed Louis in an embrace.

Because he’s still drunk, orgasm crazy, and very much exhausted, Louis can’t be blamed when through a yawn, he mumbles, “Gonna ride you next time, Cowboy.”

Harry laughs into his neck, squeezing Louis’ side in recollection of their conversation on the fairgrounds. “Next time,” he agrees.

Louis smiles, slowly drifting off to sleep. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Like almost every other morning, Louis unironically wakes up to the screeching crow of his grandparents’ rooster. As Louis’ mind slowly wakes, he shifts in bed to turn onto his back, only for his shoulder to be met with a body-like wall that stops him in the process. Louis’ eyes snap open then, twisting his neck to peer over his shoulder. It’s then that he’s met with the surprise of Harry Styles plastered up against his back, becoming increasingly aware of the man’s arm draped loosely over his waist.

And, right. _That_ happened last night. 

Flashbacks of their time at the festival flit through Louis’ mind quickly. He remembers spending the majority of the night almost exclusively by Harry’s side, the two of them giggling through the setlist, and at some point, Harry’s sparkly cowboy hat ending up on Louis’ head, and Harry was drunkenly trying to teach Louis to two-step. He failed dramatically, though, because Louis was just as drunk as Harry was — maybe more so considering the throbbing pulse across his forehead and temples. 

He also vaguely remembers the car ride home after being interrupted by designated driver and cockblock Niall, having been seated on Harry’s lap in the backseat. How large Harry’s hand felt on his stomach, keeping him steady, fingers dangerously low as they just brushed over the waistband of his pants. Harry had insisted that he’d get out when Louis did, promising that his place was only up the road from his grandparents’ ranch anyway. 

And well, while drunk and on his way to feeling rather horny with how Harry’s hand felt over his stomach and thighs, Louis wasn’t going to refuse his company. In his defense, he doesn’t think it’s his fault that they ended the night with a snog on the porch. Which then in turn led the two of them ending up in his Louis’ makeshift bedroom.

So, he remembers. He doesn’t exactly regret it either; however, he’s only a little embarrassed that his grandmother was right about them. 

His very same grandmother who’s right down the hall, clattering about in the kitchen. 

That’s enough for Louis’ heart to spike, the smaller boy elbowing Harry in the ribs without thinking in his haste to sit up. 

Harry’s nose scrunches up in slight pain when he’s elbowed, his arm tightening around Louis’ waist in both an effort to keep him still and to keep him close. It doesn’t keep Louis from elbowing him again, successfully slipping out of Harry’s grasp when Harry’s groaning from the slight pain. Louis feels a little guilty. 

“Baby,” Harry grumbles, eyes squinting open to reveal slits of green. 

“You need to go.” It almost pains Louis to say, completely endeared by the crease between Harry’s eyebrows, voice rough with sleep. That, and the fact that Harry’s calling him _baby_. 

Harry frowns, bringing up his hand to rub over his face and brush his hair out of his eyes. He’s warm with sleep, Louis can tell. Scratch that, he _knows_ with the way he had Harry plastered up against his backside. A personal space heater, honestly. “C’mere. Can stay in bed for a bit,” Harry drops his hand onto the mattress, patting the space besides him. Since Louis bolted upright and climbed out of the bed, the covers have drooped lower, draping low over Harry’s hips with his v-line just peeking out above the fabric. 

It takes Louis everything in him to swallow down his desire. “My grandmother can’t see you here,” Louis starts. “She’s— you can’t be here. She can’t open the door and find us in bed together. _Shit_ ,” he flails his arms around aimlessly. “She just can’t know, okay? So, you need to go.”

“Eve?” Harry furrows his eyebrows again, trying to catch up with the speed at which Louis’ talking. Louis doesn’t even have the capacity to stare at him like, _who else?_ What other grandmother is he talking about? “Why would she care?”

Louis knows she won’t _care_. As awkward as it is for Louis to be having sex at his grandparents’ house, they’re more than accepting and the fact that Louis’ bringing home a man isn’t going to be an issue. Hell, his grandparents would be over the moon to know Louis is making friends and having fun. It’s the fact that his grandmother’s been trying to set him up with Harry the whole time. It’s the fact that if she walks in to see Harry in his bedroom, clothed and decent or not, she’ll be smug as hell. Over the moon, sure, but she won’t let Louis forget this. 

“ _I_ care,” Louis whines, chucking Harry’s pants at the man’s chest. Harry just stares in amusement, not bothering to hide the way his eyes rake over Louis’ still naked body. It makes Louis’ stomach flip, makes him want to crawl back into bed and let Harry do whatever he pleases with him, even. But his grandmother _can’t_ know. He’ll never be able to live this down. 

“Just— you need to go,” Louis repeats, tugging on a pair of briefs before he’s trying to pick up all of Harry’s belongings from the floor while Harry takes his time getting out of bed. He doesn’t want to explain that yeah, his grandmother was trying to set him up with Harry the whole time. Harry really doesn’t need to know how sad his romantic life is.

“I really don’t think she’d care, doll,” Harry muses, but to Louis’ relief, he’s getting dressed. He doesn’t notice that Harry’s gotten so close until he’s straightening up after having picked up Harry’s trousers and finds himself just about chest to chest with the man. Harry grins when there’s a rosy flush over Louis’ face, his large hand coming down to wrap around Louis’ hip and tug him closer. Louis presses the clothes to Harry’s chest in an attempt to keep some space between them. 

“Out you go, Cowboy Man,” Louis insists, hands pressed to Harry’s chest as he attempts to get the man to walk backwards towards the window.

Harry laughs, attempting to slip his arms through his silky shirt. To Louis’ distaste, he doesn’t make any effort to button it up. “Tell me, Miss, d’you reckon I could see you again?” Harry exaggerates his western accent, absently fastening his belt once they’re stopped at the window. Harry has a goofy grin on his face, raising an eyebrow as he peers down at Louis expectantly.

Louis is an absolute goner. 

“You’re being too loud,” Louis huffs out, but he can’t help but laugh because Harry’s so fucking endearing, he wants to cry. He also wants to get on his knees. “ _Leave_ ,” Louis laughs.

“Not without a kiss and an answer,” Harry insists, resting his hands back against the windowsill. 

“Harry,” Louis warns, a smile on his face betraying him.

Harry grins, leaning forward to plant a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “One proper kiss and I won’t tell your grandparents’ I deflowered their angel under their own roof,” he teases. Louis is convinced his cheeks are going to stay permanently red under Harry’s gaze.

“Wasn’t a virgin,” Louis lightly pats his hand against Harry’s cheek.

“Just go along with it,” Harry grins, tilting his head into the feeling of Louis’ hand on his cheek. Rolling his eyes, Louis submits, graciously granting Harry his wish of one proper kiss. 

He’s the one who has to pull away when Harry’s hands end up on his bum, laughing against Harry’s lips as he moves back. “ _There_ , now _go_ ,” he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Can I see you later?” Harry asks once he’s finally climbing out the window. It’s only a few feet off of the ground, and while Louis feels a little bad about kicking him out, Harry’s not struggling at all. 

“Will you leave quicker if I say yes?” Louis rolls his eyes, leaning out the window once Harry’s feet are safely planted on the ground. He looks a bit ridiculous: his shirt’s wide open and rumpled, his hair unruly. Nonetheless, it’s utterly charming.

“A stubborn one you are, baby,” Harry grins. 

“Whatever, fine, _yes_ ,” Louis sighs.

Harry blows him a kiss in response, giving Louis a wave of his hand before he’s _finally_ leaving and allowing Louis to watch his retreating form.

It’s only a minute later before there’s a knock on his door. Louis takes a second to throw on a sweatshirt, kick Harry’s suit jacket underneath his bed, and double check that Harry hasn’t left anything else behind, tossing the covers on Harry’s side of the bed to hide the fact that someone slept in it the night before. “Come in!” Louis calls once he’s deemed the room safe, tugging the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands. 

Without fail, Evelyn opens the door a second later, a smile on her face. “Just wanted to say good mornin’,” she hums, leaning against the door frame. “I didn’t hear you come back last night. You must’ve been gone for a while, hun. Did you have fun?” 

“Yeah, we stayed for the entire set,” Louis nods his head, offering a smile to his grandmother. “It was fun— Harry’s friends are fun,” he adds. Even Kendall, who he had an unreasonable jealousy towards, was a lot of fun to be around.

Evelyn just smiles before her eyes fix on the table beside the bed, and when Louis glances over to see what she’s found, his stomach flips when he takes sight of the rhinestone embellished cowboy hat that Harry left behind from the night before. Some might say he stole it, others (Louis) could say he was granted it. Either way, it’s the same hat he knows his grandmother saw Harry come pick him up in. 

“Harry gave it to me,” Louis rushes out just as Evelyn’s opening her mouth to question it. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to explain further as they’re both interrupted by one of the cows making noise in the pasture. 

“Speak of the devil,” Evelyn smiles, walking to the window. Louis blinks in confusion, wondering what one of their cows mooing has to do with anything before getting up from the bed to follow his grandmother to the window. Immediately his eyes are drawn to the image of Harry in the field, the man’s shirt off and draped over his neck. His stomach swoops at the sight, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from drooling over Harry. From here, he can only hope that his grandmother doesn’t recognize that Harry’s still in the same clothes as last night but considering how memorable his outfit was, Louis knows there’s only so much the universe will allow him to get away with. This won’t be one of those things. “He’s here bright and early, ain’t he?” Evelyn hums, glancing at Louis. “When did you get home again?”

“Late,” Louis mumbles. God knows they were up late enough for it to be ridiculous for them to be up this early. _Especially_ for Harry to be in the fields already if at all. 

“Late,” Evelyn repeats, eyeing him curiously before she’s poking a finger against Louis’ neck. It takes him a moment to remember last night, pinned to the bed, Harry’s lips attached to his neck, leaving his mark on Louis. A fucking love bite. So much for throwing Harry out the window to save face. 

Louis wants to die of embarrassment. 

“Invite him for breakfast next time, won’t you?” Evelyn raises an expectant eyebrow at her grandson, and Louis flushes, fish-mouthing as he glances between Evelyn and the distant figure of Harry in the field.

“Nothing happened!” He sputters.

“I would’ve gave him the day off if I knew he was up all night with you,” Evelyn shakes her head, smiling as she steps away from the window. 

Louis really does not need to be talking about his sex life with his grandmother. 

“We _weren’t_ —”

“Now, I’m gonna go pull him inside. I’ll expect you at breakfast,” Evelyn hums. 

“Please don’t,” Louis whines, watching as his grandmother leaves the room instead. “I’m not hungry,” he tries but there’s no rebuttal. In her place, Stella pads up to the doorway, peering up at Louis with wide green eyes. 

“Nothing happened,” Louis repeats to the cat, huffing as he finds a pair of shorts to pull on. 

Stella just meows her disappointment. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Louis’ hunched over his desk, sitting criss-cross on top of the hard wooden chair as he scribbles words across the rough pages of his notebook, ink smearing over the sides of his hands. It’s early, only a little past three in the morning. He knows he should be sleeping, knows that he’s going to regret this later today when he ends up napping the afternoon away. But he’s been up for an hour, having been unable to stay asleep for more than a few hours than a time.

There’s no reason for it, Louis thinks. In reality, Louis is actually having a lot of fun. For the most part, he knows where he’s going with his book. He’s got a third of a draft written down, and he’s feeling pretty proud of himself. When he’s not writing, he’s helping his grandmother around the house and running errands with her. He’s even managed to learn a few of her recipes in the kitchen. He makes a mean pecan pie thanks to her.

And then there’s _Harry_.

Part of Louis is a little frustrated about that. There was never supposed to be a Harry, he never planned for a _Harry_. He blames his grandmother, honestly. It’s also completely Harry’s fault that he’s so charming. 

And it’s just— Louis is having a _lot_ of fun. Whatever it is between them, Louis likes it. He likes talking to Harry, likes hearing his thoughts. He likes that Harry’s always showing him something new whether it be another one of his friends or something on the farm. 

He loves watching Harry help his grandparents around the farm, loves that he’s always walking down the field and driveway with little Winnie. He loves that when he’s out writing in the field, Harry will sit down with him during a break, cracking jokes and saving Louis’ mental state from writing or just accompanying him in silence. 

There’s also the _sex_. Louis doesn’t even have to explain how great _that_ is. People say ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ for a reason, right?

Basically, summed up, he’s totally fucked.

 _Tap, tap, tap_. 

The noise is enough to startle Louis from his thoughts at the desk, jumping enough that his knee jerks up and hits the desk. And if the sharp pain that shoots up his knee isn’t enough, all his pens go scattering off of the desk and onto the floor from the sudden collision. “Shit,” Louis mumbles, taking in a ragged breath. He gives himself a minute to get over the slight throbbing of his knee before he untangles his legs and goes to stand. 

_Tap, tap, tap._

Louis glances up, his hand fisting the blanket that’s draped over his shoulders to his chest, preventing it from slipping off. It takes him a moment to see the figure against his window. 

“You’re crazy,” is the first thing that comes out of Louis’ mouth when he opens the window. 

“I wanted to see you,” Harry says, crossing his arms and resting his forearms on the top of the windowsill. It’s enough to tint Louis’ cheeks a pretty pink color, keeping his blanket wrapped snug against him. “Didn’t mean to frighten you,” Harry adds, raising his eyebrows in amusement. Louis very pointedly doesn’t look at the pens still scattered on the floor by his desk nor does he pay attention to the slight continued throbbing of his knee. He’s _fine_. 

“I wanted to show you somethin’, if you’re up for it,” Harry admits, a hint of a smile on his face. “It’s a bit of a trip, though. Might be a few hours.”

Without a second thought, Louis finds himself in the passenger seat of Harry’s Ford after throwing on some clothes and writing a note for his grandparents in case they’re wondering where he’s gone. The last thing he needs is for them to think he’s been kidnapped by some crazy cowboy man, even if that _is_ the truth. 

Said crazy cowboy man is currently drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while Glen Campbell’s _Rhinestone Cowboy_ plays out of the speakers. It’s one of Harry’s favorite records, Louis’ learned, and briefly, he thinks to himself that it makes perfect sense. If anything, Harry’s surely the Rhinestone Cowboy. 

“Gonna tell me where we’re going? Or am I going to have to just hope you aren’t driving me to my murder place?” Louis pipes up after a few minutes, turning his head to look at Harry’s profile. It’s completely dark out save for the moonlight and the headlights on Harry’s truck. Even so, Louis can still make out the curve of Harry’s lips when he’s smiling in response.

“Not everything’s a murder mystery, baby,” Harry grins, sparing a glance towards Louis. “Know you’ve got a bit of a thing for those.”

“So you’ve read my book finally,” Louis accuses lightly. 

Harry shrugs his shoulders. “Picked it up after Dollyfest. Don’t think ya need me to tell you how great it is,” he teases, glancing over at Louis again. “But it was great.”

Louis smiles, slipping his sock-covered feet out of his shoes and bringing his legs up on the seat, hugging them to his chest. He tries not to feel too giddy over the idea that Harry picked his book off of his bookshelf after their first night together. 

“Complimenting my book isn’t going to get you out of answering my question,” Louis tells him, smiling. “Where are we going?”

“It’s better as a surprise,” Harry grins.

“Murder is never better as a surprise. In fact, I think a murder’s spicier when the victim knows about it ahead of time. Make the murderer work for it, you know?” Louis hums thoughtfully, resting his cheek against his knees. “Are you taking me to Brokeback Mountain?” He tries again.

“Brokeback Mountain doesn’t exist, darlin’,” the taller man snorts, green eyes playful as he spares another look towards Louis. “What a shame, too. Some actual good representation, too.”

“What? Don’t think cowboys are exactly a marginalized group of people,” Louis raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“Not saying that,” Harry snorts. “Just sayin’, like— those old western movies, you know? Cowboys are a bunch of Native American killers, they’re shootin’ bullets left and right. People think of a cowboy and immediately think of John Wayne or fuckin’ Buffalo Bill Cody. _Brokeback Mountain_ was a start to some new ideas, or some very old ideas, if you ask me,” he muses. “Cowboys were always leftists, you know? Country music, too— songs of the workin’ class American, their plights and joys. Think a lot of people forget that the first cowboys had always been people of color. African-Americans. _Vaqueros_. Stirrups, bandanas, the hats— they’re all Latino,” Harry waves his hand around.

Louis stares over at Harry in disbelief, lips parted slightly. _God_. 

He’s sort of in love.

“Gyllenhaal and Ledger were white, though,” Louis points out lightly. 

“And they were straight men playing gay cowboys. Which is a problem in itself, sure, but— it’s better than anythin’ else we’ve got, you know? It’s a start. The American frontier was a lot gayer than people would like to admit. Nothing like shitty John Wayne,” Harry shakes his head. 

Louis smiles. “Trying to reclaim the cowboy, are you?”

“Somethin’ like that, baby. Trying to tear down all the John Waynes and Buffalo Bill Cody’s of the world,” Harry nods his head. 

“ _Fuck_ Buffalo Bill Cody,” Louis says. 

“FuckBuffalo Bill Cody,” Harry agrees, grinning as he looks at Louis. Even in the dark, Louis is swooning from Harry’s smile. “Now it’s not a cowboy movie, but there’s some good ol’ Wyoming representation in ‘Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.’”

“The horse movie? With barely any dialog?” Louis giggles, furrowing his eyebrows and lifting his head up from his knees. 

“‘Course. Might be a cartoon, but it’s as anti-imperialist as it gets, baby,” Harry tells him. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis laughs. “What, gonna take me to Spirit’s birth place or something?” 

Harry snorts. “Something along those lines.”

Somewhere during the second repeat of _Rhinestone Cowboy_ , Louis falls asleep in the passenger seat with his head propped up against the window. It’s not his fault, really. There was no reason for Harry Styles to be tapping against his window at three in the morning acting like some cowboy version of Romeo Montague. 

“Hey,” Harry’s voice wakes him up later, rough knuckles brushing lightly over Louis’ cheekbone. “We’re here. Gonna miss it if you’re sleeping.”

Louis scrunches his nose up, slipping his legs off of the seat to stretch them as he yawns. He blinks his eyes open sleepily, squinting as he looks out the windshield of the truck. 

It’s a field. They’re parked in the middle of a field. Louis glances at the radio console, squinting to make out the time. It reads 6:30AM, it’s still dark outside, and all Louis can think about is that, yeah, he’s definitely getting murdered. 

The man who walks a baby sheep is going to murder him. Sounds about right. 

“You brought me to a field,” Louis says, blinking blankly at the man.

Harry laughs, looking back out of the window. “Not exactly,” he smiles, and goes to open the truck door. “C’mon.”

Louis stares at him. “I’m not getting out of the truck.”

Harry tilts his head, holding onto the door handle and furrowing his eyebrows together in amusement. “Why not?”

Louis weighs his options. He already told Harry he prefers a murder with a knowing victim. So, he’s either going to be laughed at or, well, killed. “I don’t want to die,” is what he settles on.

That startles a laugh out of Harry, green eyes sparkling from the headlights of his truck. “You’re not goin’ to die,” he promises. 

“Why else would you take me to a dark abandoned field at six in the morning?” Louis frowns. 

Harry fish mouths for a second, looking at Louis incredulously. “‘Cause I’m tryin’ to _woo_ you,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck. 

Louis frowns, cheeks heating up both from the admission and embarrassment. He’s never going to live this down if Harry’s being truthful about his motives. God, Harry’s going to tell his _grandparents_. “By taking me to a dark empty field?”

Harry huffs. “It’s not— _look_ , let’s sit in the back of the truck. I’ve got some blankets. The sun’s gonna rise in, like, twenty minutes, and you’re gonna see what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” Harry pleads, reaching inside to shut off the truck and grab his keys out of the ignition. “Can even look in the glove compartment, baby. I don’t even own no gun. I’ll let you give me a pat down if you wanna double check,” he adds cheekily.

Louis does consider the option of being able to feel Harry up. He takes a moment before he’s reluctantly slipping out of the passenger’s side, rounding the truck until he’s standing in front of the bed of the vehicle. Harry doesn’t even bother to hide his amusement when he comes to meet him at the bed with a pile of blankets and a pillow in his hand from the backseat. 

“ _Relax_ ,” Harry sings with a grin, unhooking the door panel of the bed and setting the pile down on it. He turns to Louis then, raising an eyebrow before his hands come to grab at his waist, lifting him up onto the truck bed with ease. Louis’ll pretend not to be turned on by that.

“People come here often, y’know. It’s not as scary as you think it is,” Harry tells him as he climbs up on the bed, busying himself with covering the metal truck bed with blankets while Louis sits at the edge, watching. “First, we’re on White Mountain, just off I-80. There’s a part of the mountain with some petroglyphs, if you can believe it. Some of ‘em are a thousand years old. But what I _wanted_ to show you were the horses,” Harry huffs, propping himself up against the back of the truck once he’s fixed up all the blankets. “S’part of a scenic loop, 14 miles or so around the mountain and river, but they always come runnin’ across here just after dawn. Real, wild, Spanish horses. So, why don’t you come over here, enjoy the sunrise, and wait for the horses?” Harry challenges, holding an arm out. 

Louis’ cheeks are pink with embarrassment as he looks at Harry. He can tell that thankfully Harry’s not upset, moreso just amused by Louis’ conclusions, so he silently crawls over towards Harry, settling underneath his arm and allowing himself to rest his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. Harry smells good, like sitting fireside in the summer and apple pie. “You’ve got to work on your wooing,” he mumbles, resting a hand on the man’s stomach. 

Harry smiles, turning his head to press his face into Louis’ hair. “Sorry I didn’t consider that the murder mystery writer would jump to that conclusion so fast,” he snorts. 

“Think that’s your fault more than it is mine,” Louis argues weakly. 

“Whatever you say, darlin’,” Harry grins. 

Like promised, the sun starts to rise twenty minutes later. It’s gorgeous, probably the loveliest sunrise Louis’ ever witnessed in his life. From their spot at one of the highest points of the mountain, they’re able to see the way the sun climbs up from the horizon, a pink-orange hue casting over the sky and golden light crawling over the canyon. It’s breathtaking, and if Harry was actually going to murder him, Louis thinks he’d die happy after seeing this. 

When the sun finally rises up, the two of them are just sitting patiently in the bed of Harry’s truck, wrapped up within each other and the blankets, completely enjoying each other’s silence. It’s another few minutes before Harry’s leaning down to whisper into his hair, pointing out towards the horizon. 

“Here they come,” he murmurs. 

As Louis looks out to the horizon, he can hear the herd before he sees them. There’s a rumble in the distance, hooves coming down fast against the grassy dirt plains. Just at the beginning of the plateau, Louis can see a cloud of smoke form, and before he knows it, there’s a small herd of horses emerging from the fog of dirt. There’s close to fifteen of them, varied in size and color, taking off across the mountain. The sunrise has absolutely nothing on this view.

“Oh, look at them,” Louis gasps, untangling himself from Harry’s hold and sitting up with a wide and dreamy smile. Harry comes to sit up next to him, placing a hand on the smaller boy’s back, his own pleased smile resting upon his lips.

The horses don’t come close enough to the car, and from what Harry’s explained, Louis assumes that they’re used to seeing vehicles on the mountain and trail often. They’re not bothered, just majestically running across the mountain range, kicking up dirt and leaving a cloud behind them as they go. The sight is breathtaking; Louis’ seen horses at the ranch, he’s ridden a few in his life. But he doesn’t think any of those experiences could ever compete with seeing these regal animals in the wild. They’re quick, their coats are gorgeous— a variety of bay, chestnut, gold, and pinto combinations of all three—, and Louis wants to watch them forever. 

Five minutes pass and they’re disappearing beyond the loop again, likely travelling to the valley below to visit the river Harry mentioned earlier. Louis’ silent, processing the sight that he just witnessed. It takes him a second before he’s turning to Harry with a wide smile on his face, blue eyes bright as he meets Harry’s gaze. His voice feels caught in his throat as he looks at the man, unsure if he could even form a proper thought describing how he’s feeling right now. 

Eventually, he just surges up to kiss Harry, twisting his body and framing Harry’s face with his palms. He can feel Harry laugh against his lips, one of Harry’s hands sliding down his spine before his palm comes to a rest on the small of Louis’ back.

“Thank you,” Louis murmurs against his lips, pulling back seconds later to catch sight of the pleased expression on Harry’s face. 

“For the horses or not murderin’ ya?” Harry teases, running his hand up and down the curve of Louis’ spine. Louis rolls his eyes, a sheepish little grin on his face as fists his hand with the fabric of Harry’s t-shirt. 

“Both, if I’m being honest,” Louis murmurs. “But there’s still time for you to murder me, so. I’ll hold off on the latter before I jinx myself.”

Harry laughs loud, ducking his head to press his face into Louis’ neck. “You’re somethin’ else, baby,” he chuckles, low and deep. Louis can feel the rumble of Harry’s laugh and the way Harry’s mustache rubs against his skin as he smiles. 

“I like when you call me baby,” Louis says, toying with Harry’s shirt between his fingers. 

Smiling, Harry pulls himself away from his neck. “Do you?” Harry asks.

“I do,” Louis admits, cheeks pink. By now, the sun’s risen completely but there’s a gold tint in the lighting, golden hour not yet past. “I like the way it sounds when you say it. Even when you’re teasing.”

“I like callin’ you baby, too. Fits, I reckon,” Harry tells him, hand splayed across the small of Louis’ back. “What else do you like?”

There’s a lot Louis likes. He likes that Harry takes an hour out of his day to take Winnie on her daily walk — why a lamb needs to be walked, Louis will never understand, but he can’t deny the fact that it’s adorable and makes his heart swell out of his chest. There’s also the adorable and soft little paintings of Winnie Harry has all scattered around his garage. Louis finally saw them only a week ago after he spent an afternoon at Harry’s ranch. 

There’s the fact that Harry feels so passionate about his beliefs, how he can go on a rant about John Wayne and Buffalo Bill Cody for what Louis can imagine to be hours long. There’s the fact that Louis couldn’t have ever imagined such a person could grow up with these beliefs when they’re living in Wyoming. 

Louis likes how Harry acts like everything Louis says is important, the way he listens so intensely as if he doesn’t want to miss a word Louis says. He likes that Harry makes him feel listened to, makes him feel _interesting_ , and he likes that Harry felt so strongly about him that he went home and picked up the copy of Louis’ book off his shelf to read. 

It’s only been a month since he’s known Harry, but Louis knows that he’s fallen hard. He knows how these summer romances are supposed to go— it’s a fun fling, something for the memories, something not made to last. Louis hates that, hates even imagining a world where Harry isn’t going to come tapping on his window at three in the morning and whisk him off to see the sunrise three hours away. 

He’s fucked, to say the least. He’s fucked because even after only a month of knowing Harry, Louis knows he doesn’t ever want to _not_ know him. 

“I like that you’re a crazy man who kidnaps their boss’ grandson to ‘woo’ him,” Louis says, choosing to shake these thoughts out of his head before he gets stuck there. “And I like your mustache— I don’t think I’ve ever liked a man with a mustache,” he hums, lifting his hand to thumb over Harry’s chin. “I like that you paint so many portraits of a baby lamb.”

“Not just any baby lamb,” Harry corrects with a dimpled grin.

“Of baby Winnie,” Louis giggles, eyes crinkling. “I like that you’re so close with my grandparents. And I like that you didn’t even argue when I kicked you out of my room that one morning.”

Harry snorts. “I thought you were ridiculous.”

Louis flicks his cheek. “Sorry I didn’t want Nana to walk in and see me in bed with someone,” he rolls his eyes. “Not all of us are as shameless as you are, you know.”

“Sex is a completely normal aspect of human life. I don’t think we should be ashamed of it,” Harry argues, and Louis still can’t grasp how he’s real. 

“There’s a difference between being ashamed and being reserved about your sex life, Cowboy,” Louis pats hand against Harry’s cheek, and then he adds after a second thought, “and I like how you touch me.”

Harry traces his fingers over Louis’ spine, slipping his hand down towards the waistband of Louis’ pants. “I like touching you. So that’s mutual,” Harry tells him.

“Is nothing else mutual?” Louis challenges with a laugh, swinging his leg over Harry’s lap and straddling his waist. “Been throwing you compliments and all you can say is that it’s mutual when I say I like how you touch me,” he scoffs. 

Harry just grins, pressing his lips to the column of Louis’ neck. “Brat,” he mumbles, biting lightly at Louis’ skin. “It’s all mutual. I like you a lot,” he whispers, slipping his fingers down the back of Louis’ joggers. Louis shivers at the feeling, face flushing pink as he leans into the touch.

“Watch your hands,” Louis warns, tugging lightly at a curl. Harry just smirks against his skin in response, sinking his hand down further. 

“Nobody’s out here,” Harry insists, and Louis closes his eyes as he feels Harry’s hand splaying over his ass underneath his cotton joggers. “Nobody’s gonna see,” he murmurs, and Louis’ a fool if he thinks he’s going to get out of this. He was a goner as soon as Harry started tracing his spine.

So, it’s not surprising when Louis lets Harry slip his t-shirt off, removing his own in the following moment. Louis takes a moment to appreciate the sight of Harry’s bare chest, tracing his fingers over the ridiculous giant moth on his stomach. He lets his eyes travel down to the laurels by Harry’s hips. As if these weren’t an excuse just to get more attention on his cock, Louis thinks.

In the next few moments, Harry manages to get Louis’ pants off, tossing them into the very nice pile of clothes they’ve gotten started in the corner of the truck bed. Between them being in the middle of nowhere, where anybody could see them if they happen to drive by, and knowing just what’s in Harry’s pants, Louis’ jittery with both anticipation and nerves. He’s not sure if he’s ever going to get used to the size of Harry— God knows his ass isn’t.

The feeling of Harry’s lips sucking at his throat, just hard enough to make a light mark, is driving Louis crazy already. So crazy that he barely notices when Harry’s hands are returning to his ass and spreading his cheeks, not wasting a moment before two fingers are rubbing over his hole. Louis whimpers, arching back against the feeling. 

“God, you’re so hot,” Harry groans, pressing the tip of his middle finger and breathing out hotly when Louis’ hole flutters around the intrusion. Although Louis finds it unbearably hot, Harry doesn’t dare to press any deeper, even if in the heated moment, Louis thinks he could let him. Instead, Harry’s reluctantly pulling away and rummaging around in the blankets surrounding them with his hand, his other arm wrapped tightly around Louis’ waist to keep him steady on his lap. Louis watches, impatient, his mouth falling open slightly when Harry’s turning back with a condom and lube.

“You hid a condom and lube in the blankets,” Louis accuses, stumbling over his words as he watches the way Harry’s fingers curl around the small bottle. 

Harry grins back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that an issue?”

Louis groans. “You’re so fucking cocky,” he says.

Harry lifts Louis up slightly, tugging his own pants down with his hand. “That’s one way to put it,” he grunts when his cock bobs free, slapping wetly against his stomach. Louis’ breath hitches. He can’t feign annoyance with Harry, too distracted by the pure sight of him. He wishes he could ignore the way he can feel himself salivating, all thoughts just… leaving his head.

“One way to put it,” Louis repeats, blinking. He doesn’t hesitate to reach for Harry’s cock, his hand barely wrapping around the length. The sight has Louis’ stomach swooping. He doesn’t even notice that Harry’s gone and slicked up his fingers until he feels the cool breach of Harry’s wet finger slip inside of him. 

“Oh, fuck,” Louis whimpers, arching his back and rising up onto his knees where they’re bracing Harry’s hips as Harry presses his finger inside deeper. Harry’s other hand pulls at Louis’ cheek, spreading him open as much as he can, enough that Louis can feel a slight burn. It’s nothing bad, and it only makes Louis want more and more. Just as he tilts his head down, Harry’s leaning up to capture his lips in a heated kiss. He bites Louis’ lower lip, kissing Louis as deep and slow and _rough_ as he talks. 

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to this. 

“Fuck,” Louis whimpers against Harry’s lips when Harry’s pressing in a second finger, taking his sweet time letting his fingers work in and out of him. Harry likes taking his time with opening him up, Louis’ learned over the past few weeks, and as impatient as Louis can get, he also doesn’t hate it as much as he pretends to.

It’s not long before Harry’s adding in a third finger, and then a fourth because he just likes to see Louis squirm. That, and Harry’s just _big_. A fourth finger definitely isn’t going to hurt. It gets to a point where Louis almost thinks he’s going to come, rising up and away from Harry’s fingers as they relentlessly hit his prostate with each thrust, letting out little breathy noises. “Want you inside— gonna come like this if you don’t stop,” Louis warns, and Harry can’t help but groan against Louis’ throat. 

“Want you to sit on my cock,” Harry tells him, and Louis isn’t going to argue. He’s already here on Harry’s lap, and Harry’s cock has been rutting messily into his hipbone for the past few minutes. That, and he’s sure that he’ll have his head rammed into the truck if he lays down and lets Harry rail him like that. The blankets will only give him so much comfort. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Louis chants breathlessly. He falters a little bit when Harry removes his fingers, but he lets it slide once he’s watching Harry tug on the condom and slick himself up. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Harry mumbles roughly, giving himself a tug before he’s helping maneuver Louis over his cock. Louis swallows hard when he feels the head catch on the rim of his hole, already rolling his hips back against him. The tip of Harry’s cock finally pushes past his rim, and Louis inhales sharply at the intrusion as if he hadn’t expected it. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to the way it feels like Harry’s splitting him open.

Harry’s hands are holding his waist in support, kissing over his neck in the meantime. “Take your time, baby,” he mumbles into Louis’ skin, and part of Louis wants to smack him for that. Taking a deep breath, Louis allows himself to sink lower on Harry’s cock, and he doesn’t miss the way Harry groans against his throat when Louis’ clenching around him, trying to get used to the size. Fortunately for the both of them, it’s not too long before Louis’ properly seated on Harry’s cock, the boy’s hip bones practically jutting into his arse. For a moment, Louis forgets how to breathe, barely able to focus on anything but how full he feels. He can feel Harry in his stomach, and when he even moves in the slightest, he’s reminded by how deep Harry is. He feels like he’s on fire, and he’s barely able to form a coherent thought. 

Harry’s hand is rubbing over the small of his back, running over his arse every so often and tracing his fingers over where they’re connected. It makes Louis want to cry, and he doesn’t even notice when he’s begun to rock his hips until Harry’s groaning as he leans his head back against the window of the truck. 

“God. Look at you,” Harry grunts, thrusting his hips up roughly in the next few moments that follow and hooking his arm tight around the boy’s waist. Louis’ pulled flush against Harry’s chest, and he’s almost brought to tears when he feels Harry’s cock thrusting into him so _deep_ , his vision blurry. It’s then that Harry nails his prostate, and Louis can’t even pull himself into trying to meet Harry’s thrusts halfway. Instead, he lets Harry drive into him rough and deep, drilling his prostate with every single thrust. Louis’ mouth hangs open, and he shivers as Harry’s lips return to his jaw, kissing as much skin as he can reach.

“Don’t know how you’re real,” Harry chokes out, slowing his hips and grinding his cock deep inside of Louis. He doesn’t relent on Louis’ prostate, and Louis can’t even control the moans that are leaving his lips. His vision’s white and blurry at this point, and he feels like the world is absolutely collapsing around them. The sound of their skin slapping together, in the middle of God knows where, has Louis so hyper focused, hands grabbing frantically for purchase on Harry’s biceps. 

“Harry, Harry— can’t— gonna come,” Louis practically sobs, and within seconds, he’s whimpering and coming hard all over their stomachs. His body is shaking, he can’t feel his thighs, his vision’s gone blank. He’s not even sure he’s breathing. 

Harry groans, thrusting up into Louis hard and deep, once, twice, and thrice more before he’s spilling into the condom, cock spasming inside of Louis just as much as Louis’ hole is fluttering around him. 

Louis falls against Harry’s chest as they come down, strong arms wrapped tightly around his waist as he tries to remember what it’s like to be human and alive again. He doesn’t ever want to move, not even as he feels Harry’s dick soften inside of him. Instead, he allows himself to breathe in the sweat on their skin, eyes closed in peace. It feels like forever until Louis is breathing normally again, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s collarbone before he’s carefully sitting up. 

“You alright?” Harry breathes, voice rough. He’s smiling, though, and Louis just wants to kiss him, so he does, because he _really_ doesn’t have any reason not to. Harry’s cock is quite literally in his ass.

“A little dead,” Louis admits, and he hesitates before he finally lifts himself off of Harry’s lap, hissing at the sudden emptiness. 

“Here we go again with the murderin’,” Harry laughs, and Louis just giggles, letting out a defeated huff. He doesn’t even bother to grimace when Harry reaches for one of the blankets to wipe them off.

“Ready to go?” Harry teases, pulling the condom off and tying it. Louis groans a little but reaches for his clothes, slowly slipping them on. Harry’s following his lead then, and as soon as he’s pulled on his clothes, he’s jumping down from the truck. He doesn’t hesitate before grabbing Louis’ waist and lifting him down from the bed, setting the smaller boy down on shaky legs. “Just gonna clean up a bit. Can go sit in the truck and we’ll be on our way,” Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek. 

Louis manages a smile, nodding his head and watching as Harry climbs back up into the bed. His legs feel like jello as he goes to reach the passenger door, a slight burn in his ass that’s beginning to get more and more noticeable as he walks. Opening the door, Louis braces himself before climbing up into the truck. 

Louis’ breath catches in his throat when he gingerly sits down on the passenger seat. He can’t stop the whine that leaves his mouth, absently attempting to angle his hips in a way that will cause him the least discomfort. He barely registers that Harry’s returned from putting all the blankets away, the man’s eyebrows furrowed together in concern as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Lou, you alright?” The question makes Louis’ cheeks heat, and he automatically brings a hand up to cover his face.

“You’re so fucking big,” Louis grits out, embarrassed as he tips his head against the back of the seat. He fists his hand against his thigh as he shifts, attempting to get into a position where he can’t feel the soreness so blatantly. “M’just— fucked me so hard, I’m sore. S’like I can still _feel_ you,” he finally says, swallowing hard. He probably shouldn’t have ridden Harry, sure, but in his defense, how could he not?

Harry stares at him in disbelief. “That’s, like, the hottest thing you could’ve ever said to me,” he says after a moment, voice rough. 

Louis narrows his eyes, more playful than anything else, and breathes out slowly, grounding himself. “Just drive.”

Harry has a smug smirk on his face for the rest of the ride home.

(Louis may or may not refuse to get out of the truck when they finally get to his grandparents’. Harry may or may not carry him into the house but it may or may not come with the cost of telling Evelyn and Cliff how Louis was convinced Harry was going to murder him out at Pilot Butte.)

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

There’s a lot Louis loves about Wyoming. He loves that there’s a new sight of beauty to see on every drive. He loves spending days lounging on his grandparents’ back porch, watching the sun set over the horizon and along the mountain range. Everything is so quaint and quiet. Even as a homebody, he likes that when he goes out into town, everyone’s so friendly and he can barely enter anywhere without someone saying hello and engaging in small talk. 

There’s a lot Louis loves about New York. He loves the bodega on the corner of his street with the particularly fat black cat that lounges in the window sill on Louis’ morning walks. He loves that he could cry on the subway in complete peace after his first college boyfriend broke up with him. He’s suited for the city— he’s suited for the endless blocks to discover his new favorite places, the blinding fluorescent lights in the subway stations, and the cold winter months. 

He lives for December in Manhattan and his annual ice skating date with Zayn at Bryant Park as soon as it opens for the season. Louis loves the fierceness, the indescribable character of the city. 

Louis realizes he misses it more than he realized when Zayn calls him one morning while he’s sat on the back deck on their swinging bench, watching from afar as Harry helps his grandfather work on one of their older tractors. Louis’ eyes get lost between the rusting red paint of the vehicle and the way Harry’s t-shirt has begun to cling to his damp skin underneath the scorching July sun. 

“Tell me what I’ve missed,” Louis requests, rocking himself silently back and forth, the soles of his sneakers grazing over the wood. 

It’s not the first time he’s talked to Zayn since he’s been here. They’ve texted each other occasionally— Zayn sends him pictures of his recent paintings, Louis sends him selfies with Stella. Zayn’s already heard about Harry, how his identity has gone from _Hot Cowboy_ to _Straight Hot Cowboy Harry_ in a matter of days, and from there, _Hot Cowboy Harry_ that Louis is currently hooking up with. Maybe dating. He’s still not sure where they’re standing in terms of titles.

They’re fucking _a lot_ and Harry takes him out on dates almost daily. They’ll hold hands around the town, and they’ll cuddle up on Louis’ grandparents’ loveseat. It’s all a little ridiculous, Louis thinks. 

Zayn’s met someone, too, he reveals. Her name’s Gigi, and she’s a recent graduate from Parsons. She just moved into the apartment above theirs when Louis left, and after an exchange in the laundry room of their apartment building, they hit it off.

Thinking about it, Louis did notice a pair of heels in the background of their apartment in one of the pictures Zayn sent to him recently. As eccentric as Zayn can be as an artist, Louis knows him pretty well enough to know that heels are not something he’s interested in wearing. That, and he also knows that Zayn almost never takes a girl back to their apartment if it’s a hookup. He’s way too protective of his workspace to allow anyone he barely knows to mess with it. 

Given the fact that Harry had been kissing over the back of his neck when he looked at the picture, Louis hadn’t had the time to question him on it.

Gigi, however, sounds lovely. Even just from a quick rambling over the phone, Louis’ not sure if he’s ever seen Zayn gush over someone like he’s gushing over Gigi. Part of Louis wishes he was there to see it. It doesn’t feel right that he’s here and missing an important part of Zayn’s life. 

It makes him feel a little bitter, truthfully, that people, including Zayn, are still moving while he’s been gone. He’s not sure what he expected— it’s not like he expected Zayn to sit around in their apartment all day, paint, and put his life on pause until Louis returned. The thought itself is silly, and Louis feels guilty for even thinking about it. 

He’s happy for Zayn, he really is. He just has to remind himself that soon he’ll be back and caught up with everything happening in his best friend’s life. It’ll be okay. 

“—She’s been over a lot. She hasn’t touched anything on your desk, don’t worry about that. We’re going out tonight, actually. Gi’s got a show uptown— some of her pieces are on display. I’ll text you pictures later,” Zayn tells him, and just from his tone, he can tell that Zayn’s smiling from ear to ear.

“Shit, don’t tell me you’ve got any shows coming up soon,” Louis gasps. 

Fortunately enough, Zayn doesn’t. Louis’ not sure if he can live with himself if he missed one of Zayn’s exhibitions. “Not until September, bub. I’ve got some work over at Tisch, remember?”

Louis groans. “Fucking NYU,” he mumbles, picking at a thread on his shorts. “Gigi sounds amazing, Zayn. M’glad you have her around— you sound really happy.”

There’s a silence, like Zayn’s a little flustered, unsure of how to respond. “How’s your Cowboy, then? He had, like, a ten minute long Instagram story the other day.”

Louis smiles at the reminder of Harry’s story a few days ago. After showing Harry how to properly use the story filters on Instagram, Harry spent an hour sitting in the pasture with Winnie, putting the cutest little filters on her. His story ended up being a good ten minutes long, a bunch of fifteen to thirty second videos of Winnie decorated in sparkles and flowers while prancing around Harry, another few of the fluffy little lamb donning virtual cat ears.

“I didn’t even know you followed Harry,” Louis admits, furrowing his eyebrows together. He can practically hear Zayn roll his eyes over the speaker. 

“You tag him in your story sometimes. So, I wanted to check him out,” Zayn replies. 

That’s not surprising. Zayn’s always taken it upon himself to scope out the guys Louis’ been interested in over the years. _I don’t want you going out with a creep_ , Zayn would argue.

“He looks like he’s a baby sheep account,” Zayn adds, and Louis can’t help but laugh. “I wasn’t even sure if I got the account right.”

“That’s _Winnie_. She’s ours. She’s the one I told you scared me, like, weeks ago,” Louis laughs. “He loves her. Takes her out on _walks_. I didn’t even know sheep wanted to be walked. Z, he paints portraits of her.”

“That’s disgustingly cute,” Zayn gags. 

“He’s disgustingly cute,” Louis mutters, shaking his head fondly. He looks back out into the field, letting his eyes linger on their current subject. From a distance, Louis can’t tell if Harry’s looking at him, but has his question answered as a grin spreads across Harry’s lips when they meet each other’s gaze, dimples carving into his cheeks. Harry’s tipping his hat towards Louis, then, with a ridiculous smile on his face, and Louis giggles to himself, shaking his head as he looks back down at his lap. “Really fucking cute, Z. I’m gonna die.”

“So, it’s pretty serious, isn’t it?” Zayn asks.

Louis hesitates. “I don’t know— maybe? We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Wasn’t he convinced on _wooing_ you?” 

Louis blushes, fixing his fringe and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “He said that a few times,” he admits reluctantly.

“Sounds serious to me. Sounds like you’re being _courted_ ,” Zayn sings teasingly.

Louis laughs, tipping his head back. “Not being courted. Reminder that we’re in the twenty-first century, Zayn.”

Zayn laughs on the other end of the line. There’s silence again, a quiet hum of static filling Louis’ ear from the speaker on his phone. 

“I’m really glad you’re happy too, Lou,” Zayn tells him after a few beats. 

They stay on the phone for a little longer before Zayn tells him he has to start getting ready for Gigi’s show tonight, promising him again that he’ll send Louis some pictures later. In the moments after Zayn hangs up, Louis finds himself staring blankly down at his phone.

As happy as he is, Louis can’t help but miss home. He’s had the most fun with Harry and his grandparents, a lot more fun than he anticipated when he arrived just two months ago. After all, meeting a boy wasn’t in his plans. At the very most, he expected to spend every day writing and spend the rest of his time with his grandparents. 

He doesn’t regret it, though. As much as he hates to admit it, Harry somehow squirmed his way into being a very big part of his time here in, well, no time at all. It’s scary when Louis allows himself to think about it, so, in that case, he’ll ignore it. 

“Y’alright, baby?”

Harry’s voice startles him from his thoughts. Louis squints as he tilts his head up to look at Harry, the rays from the sun casting behind the man in front of him. Considering the question, Louis slowly nods his head. 

“I’m okay,” Louis promises as Harry sits down besides him.

Harry raises an eyebrow like he’s not quite sure if he believes him, but to Louis’ relief, he doesn’t push him any further. He’s not sure he’d know where to start if Harry really wanted to know. 

“I’m enjoying this view,” he smiles in an attempt to change the conversation, tugging lightly on the damp sleeve of Harry’s t-shirt. 

Harry laughs, shaking his head and leaning over as he presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “I’m bucklin’ down over here, workin’ my ass off, and you’re just in it for the view,” Harry whistles, leaning back. If Louis didn’t know any better, he would’ve worried that Harry was actually offended, but the dimple in Harry’s cheek gives him away too easily. 

“You caught me,” Louis giggles, shrugging his shoulders before Harry’s slinging his arm around them, tucking Louis underneath his arm. Louis wrinkles his nose, laughing once again. “You stink, though. I take it back.”

Harry scoffs, pinching the smaller boy’s bicep. “ _Again_. Been bucklin’ down, workin’ my ass off,” he repeats slowly. 

Louis rolls his eyes. “I said you were hot the first time, I don’t know why you’re trying to prove it to me,” he says, and he’s giggling when it’s being tugged into a loose and playful headlock, tickled with Harry’s free hand. 

“You are _so_ annoyin’,” Harry groans out a laugh. 

Louis giggles, squirming away from the offending fingers digging into and dancing over his ribs. “I called you hot!” He defends himself. 

It takes the next ten minutes and a promise to join him in the shower if he stops for Harry to finally relent on Louis’ rib cage, the two of them giggling on the porch for the rest of the time. 

For the rest of the night, Louis forgets all about his dilemma. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Since Louis’ taught Harry how to use the filters on Instagram, it isn’t surprising that Harry can’t put his phone down around Winnie. He’s constantly trying out new filters on the little fluffy animal, and if he’s not pointing the camera at Winnie, he’s pointing the camera at Louis. 

So when he walks in on Harry lying on his stomach on the floor of the barn with Winnie hooked underneath his arm, it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. From behind, all Louis can see is Harry pointing at Winnie and getting her to bop along to the music with him. Once Louis gets past the shock of it, he recognizes the music as “Promiscuous” by Nelly Furtado, watching in complete and utter amusement as Harry mouths the words and points to Winnie. To Louis’ knowledge, the poor girl has absolutely no idea what’s going on, but she doesn’t seem to be bothered. 

“I thought you were working!” Louis blinks, staring at the scene in front of him. 

Harry glances over his shoulder, laughing loudly when he catches sight of Louis a few feet behind them. Winnie takes the opportunity to scramble out from underneath Harry’s arm as he pushes himself up off of the hay-ridden floor. 

Harry grins sheepishly, lifting Winnie into his arms once he’s standing and bopping to the music that’s still playing out from his phone. “I’m… taking a break,” he grins, dimples cratering his cheeks. Louis hates how adorable he is— he’s constantly frustrated over how endearing Harry can be. _Especially_ when he’s with Winnie. 

Louis narrows his eyes, fitting his hands on his hips in what he hopes looks threatening. In reality, it doesn’t bother him that Harry’s not working— he doesn’t control the farm and he knows that Harry’s the hardest worker around here. But considering Harry told him last night that he’d be way too busy on the farm today to see Louis before dinner, he’s only a little annoyed. Only as annoyed as he can be after stumbling upon Harry making a video with his favorite little friend. “What are you doing?” 

That turns out to be the worst question to ask Harry, Louis finds out. 

“I’m the Charli D’Amelio of FarmTok,” is the first thing that comes out of Harry’s mouth. The only thought that passes through Louis’ brain is: _how is he real?_ He’s going to need this answer from somebody soon. 

Once Harry’s grabbed his phone, he’s immediately dragging Louis into scrolling through his profile. It’s filled with silly videos of him around the farm, most of them including Willie. He plays a few of them to show Louis his content, and there’s one video, a TikTok trend currently going around, Louis notes, where Harry and Winnie are jumping around in the pasture, along to the beat of the intro music to “Where is The Love?” by the Black Eyed Peas and the caption reading: _me on my way to play with the sheep instead of working :D_

He’s completely infatuated. 

“This… this is what you do all day?” Louis laughs, covering his mouth with his hands. He can’t believe it. 

Harry grins, shrugging as he puts a squirmy little Winnie back onto her feet. “Well, _sometimes_. Yeah,” he laughs, fixing his hat on top of his head. 

Louis fishes for words, smacking the back of his hand against Harry’s bicep. “I thought you were working!” He repeats, unable to process the fact that Harry, his Harry, is a star on the farm side of TikTok. 

“I am!” Harry pouts, rolling his eyes at the shorter boy. “Can’t a man catch a break from the labor we’ve been forced into as a society?” He sighs, waving his phone around before he freezes, turning to Louis excitedly. “Oh my God— _please_ make a TikTok with me,” he insists, eyes lighting up with ideas that Louis just knows he’s afraid to ask about. He’s not ready for Harry to inevitably convince him to throw it back for his half a million followers. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t dance, Cowboy?” Louis laughs, putting his hands out and shaking his head in protest as he takes a step back. “ _No_. No dancing for me, thank you.” The last thing he needs is to end up going viral on Harry’s TikTok and everyone to see just how terrible he is at dancing. 

“It ain’t gotta be dancin’,” Harry pleads, and before Louis knows it, Harry’s on his knees in front of him. He’s insane. “Just somethin’ cute— they’ll _love_ you, I know it.”

Unfortunately for Louis, Harry ends up winning him over and he’s being dragged into Harry’s TikTok career. It’s a stupid video, but Harry’s got the biggest smile over his face, and Louis’ learned that he really doesn’t know how to say no to the dorky cowboy with the biggest heart he’s ever seen. 

“Hey, Cowpeople!” Harry greets the camera, standing in front of where his phone is haphazardly against a few stacked bales of hay against the wall of the barn. In his hand, he’s messing around with a roped lasso, and he’s grinning excitedly at the camera. “Winnie’s takin’ a break— she’s gettin’ a little camera shy. But I’ve got someone I’d like y’all to meet,” he says. He swings the lasso in the air dramatically, in complete cowboy fashion, before he throws it off camera’s view, the loop falling over Louis’ shoulders. Louis tries not to roll his eyes as Harry tugs on the rope to tighten the knot, reeling Louis in. 

“This is my boyfriend, Louis. Ain’t he cute?” Harry grins, tugging Louis closer by a pull of the rope. 

“Boyfriend?” Louis questions, raising his eyebrows as he stumbles into Harry’s side. As soon as he questions it, he sees Harry’s face tint a subtle red, the cowboy turning his attention towards Louis and away from the camera in that moment. 

“Yeah— I mean, yeah, if that’s alright?” Harry tilts his head, a hopeful smile on his face. 

And, well. How is Louis supposed to do anything but smile like an absolute dork? 

“Boyfriends,” Louis confirms with a nod, letting out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, of course,” he agrees, bringing his hands up to cup Harry’s face the best he can with the rope’s restraint, dragging him down for a kiss. It’s awkward and silly, and Harry’s smiling way too much into it, but Louis feels on top of the world. 

“Boyfriends,” Harry repeats with a gleeful laugh, taking no hesitation before he’s wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and spinning him around in the middle of the barn. It’s only a matter of seconds before Harry gets his leg tangled in the excess of the rope, tumbling to the hay-covered floor and dragging Louis down with him. 

“We’re gonna have to do another take of that,” Harry groans. 

Later that day, after a few more different video takes and a number of chases around the farm to get Winnie to cooperate in a video, Harry uploads three videos to his TikTok account.

One: _No Longer a Single Dad to Winnie — Meet My Boyfriend Louis!_

Two: Harry serenading little Winnie around the farm with a sound clip of Disclosure’s “Latch”, featuring clips of him jumping off of the tractor to get her to dance along and other shots of close up videos of Winnie staring up at him. (In complete horror or infatuation with Harry, Louis and Harry will never agree on it.)

Three: _My Boyfriend Won’t Do the WAP :(_

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“What’s going on here, _Snow White_?” 

Louis sleepily blinks his eyes open, vision bleary as he makes out Harry’s figure in the entrance of the barn. It takes him a second to realize where he is and to notice that little Winnie is curled up against his side, soft snores coming from the soft animal. On his other side, Winnie’s mother, Jolene, is laid on the barn floor with her head resting on Louis’ shin. It makes his chest tighten, and Louis tries his hardest not to move and disturb them when Harry steps forward. 

“Shh, they’re sleeping,” Louis whispers, sleepy blue eyes rising to meet Harry’s gaze, a happy smile on his face to see his boyfriend standing there. He can’t recall how he ended up in this position. The last thing he remembers was watching Harry shave wool off the sheep in the middle of the pasture from the barn. He had intended to write, he really did, but watching Harry hard at work was distracting and then little Winnie came running into the barn with her mother close behind, looking to play with Louis, and who was Louis to say no to such a little angel?

Somehow, he must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Looks like you’re the sheep whisperer now,” Harry says, a fond expression on his face as he carries farm equipment to the back of the barn. Louis can’t believe he gets to watch Harry’s biceps bulge.

“I don’t know how this happened,” Louis laughs, gently petting his hand over Winnie’s little face. The lamb twitches in her sleep, but stays put, most likely just comforted by the feeling. “I was trying to write,” he promises. 

“Instead you’ve enchanted the whole farm with your beauty,” Harry teases, glancing over his shoulder. Louis blushes, shaking his head as he watches sweet little Winnie snore against his side. “Including the farm hand.”

Louis grins, looking back at Harry. “I’ve enchanted the farm hand, too?”

“The farm hand was enchanted the moment Winnie stumbled into your hands,” Harry confirms, grinning as he walks back to Louis. “How very fortunate he was that he was the farm hand for _your_ grandparents,” he hums, crouching down and pressing a sweet kiss to Louis’ cheek. 

The smile doesn’t leave Louis’ face for the rest of the day. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Louis finishes his book on an early Tuesday morning. 

It’s six in the morning, precisely, and the sun’s just begun to shine through his window, casting a golden hue in his temporary bedroom. It’s Harry’s day off, Louis remembers, and he’s currently still asleep in Louis’ bed. The man’s snoring quietly under the fluffy white covers, tufts of brown curls laying wild on the pillow while hugging another one to his chest since Louis’ been out of bed. Louis leaving the bed suddenly is something Harry’s gotten used to over the past few weeks when it comes to Louis’ random urges to write his thoughts down. 

_“Baby,” Harry croaks, lazily lifting his head when he notices the bright luminance coming from Louis’ phone as a makeshift flashlight._

_Louis has his nose deep in his notebook, fidgeting with his pen as his eyebrows knit together in thought. He’s sat up against his headboard, legs tucked almost to his chest as he uses his knees as a temporary desk. He’s bleary-eyed, chewing absently on the end of his pen, and it’s not until Harry reaches out to brush his knuckles lightly over Louis’ bare thigh that the smaller boy even notices that Harry’s awake._

_“Sorry,” Louis breathes out sheepishly, eyes still trained on the smudged ink on his paper._

_Harry makes a quiet and disgruntled noise when Louis fails to look at him, moving his hand down to wrap gently around Louis’ delicate ankle. “Why’re you up? It’s late,” he murmurs, voice rough and barely above a whisper._

_Louis lets out a breath, finally tearing his eyes away from the open page. His eyes burn slightly, and he’s not too sure how long he’s been awake. “Just— woke up. Had a few ideas I wanted to get down,” he tells Harry quietly, glancing over at the man peering up at him with sleepy emerald eyes._

_“You should sleep,” Harry frowns, squeezing Louis’ ankle. His thumb brushes over the delicate bone that juts out on the side, rubbing over Louis’ skin lightly._

_“Soon. M’not done yet,” Louis grumbles quietly, turning back to his papers._

_There’s silence, and for a minute or two, Louis figures Harry’s gone back to sleep. His hand is still wrapped around his ankle, though, and Louis already knows he’s going to wake Harry up again when he inevitably lays back down. The last thing he wants to do is wake Harry up again. Letting out a soft huff, he presses his pen to the paper once again._

_“Can I stay up with you?” Harry mumbles seconds later. When Louis looks down, Harry’s cheek is squished against the pillow, loose curls lying flat on his forehead. Louis’ not sure he can take the sight of Harry looking so soft right now._

_“You have to get up early,” Louis reminds him, poking the back of his pen against Harry’s nose lightly. “I don’t want you to be tired.”_

_“I’ll be okay,” he argues, tapping his fingers rhythmically against Louis’ smooth ankle. “I’ll live. And I won’t bother ya, promise.”_

_Louis frowns, gently pushing a curl off of Harry’s forehead, delicate fingers grazing over Harry’s warm skin. He’s always warm when they’re in bed, Louis’ learned over the short amount of time they’ve spent together. He doesn’t know if it’s the heat or what, but Harry just radiates warm. Thinking about it, Louis thinks that’s reflective of Harry’s personality; he’s never met a person who has radiated warmth like Harry has. The thought makes his stomach flip, and he lets out a little sigh in defeat. “I’ll sleep in a little bit.”_

_“I don’t care. You won’t even know I’m here,” Harry murmurs._

_Sighing, Louis decides that he can’t exactly force Harry back to sleep. He flicks his finger against Harry’s cheek gently before he’s bringing his pen back to his notebook, trying to pick up where he’s left off._

_He only ends up writing for another fifteen minutes or so before he feels a little too guilty about keeping Harry up. He knows that Harry’s usually up at the crack of dawn and the last thing he wants to do is see Harry yawning around the farm when it has everything to do with him._

_(When they’re up all night kissing every inch of each other’s skin, however, that’s a perfect excuse for exhaustion.)_

_Louis folds his notebook shut in defeat, setting it down on the nightstand besides his bed and setting the pen neatly on top of it. He shuffles down back on the bed, twisting his body so he’s facing Harry. As much as he would’ve liked to ignore it and keep writing, he can barely keep his eyes open himself._

_“Write down anything good?” Harry smiles, thumbing over Louis’ cheekbone before he’s lightly tracing over the smaller boy’s jawline with his knuckles._

_“Guess you’ll have to read it when it’s published to find out,” Louis sticks out his tongue. “Or you can just let it collect dust on your shelf again and read it, like, two years later after you’ve fucked the author.”_

_Harry giggles, moving his hand to cup the back of Louis’ head and scratching his nails against his scalp. “That’s not fair,” he grins, dimples cratering his cheeks._

_“That’s what happened,” Louis argues, trying to bite back a smile._

_“You say it like it’s a sure thing I’m gonna fuck you again in two years,” Harry says after a moment, smile still present on his face. There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice, Louis notes, like he’s unsure if he should’ve caught onto that piece._

_Truthfully, Louis didn’t mean it. He doesn’t know how any of this is going to end up, if he’s being honest. He’s happier than he’s ever felt with a boy, and that’s… scary. There’s no promise of anything lasting beyond the summer. But the smile on Harry’s face seems hopeful, so naive, and gleeful from the mere idea that they could still be doing this in two years time._

_Harry must take his silence for bashfulness, though, and as tired as Louis is, he can’t even feel embarrassed for insinuating that they’d still be doing this in two years. “I wouldn’t mind that, for the record. I’d like it a lot, I reckon,” Harry adds, twirling Louis’ soft hair around his fingers._

_Louis just smiles, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips. “I won’t sign the book afterwards next time,” he chooses to say. Keep it light and playful, he thinks._

_He falls asleep to the sound of Harry’s giggle, bright and cheerful even at three in the morning._

There’s no climatic moment.

Louis stares at the last line, eyes burning from being awake for so long. It’s been close to four hours, and by some miracle, he hasn’t woken Harry yet. He reads over the last line over and over again, waiting for some burst of pride and excitement. There should be a part of him that wants to jump up with joy, wake Harry up, and celebrate with him. There should be a part of him that’s tripping over his feet trying to get to his phone because he can’t call Zayn fast enough. 

But there’s _nothing._

It doesn’t feel unfinished— Louis doesn’t think he could add to it if he tried. As far as first drafts go, he’s set. This is what he’s wanted, and it feels good. He _knows_ it’s good, in fact.

He finally has what he’s wanted and all he feels is nothing. 

Pressing the heels of his palms up against his eyes, Louis quietly pushes back his chair and stands to his feet. He’s dizzy with sleep but thinking about crawling back into bed with Harry makes him feel sick right now. Instead, he tugs on a pair of shorts and slides into his favorite hoodie, hiding his hands in the fabric of his sweater paws. Silently, he slips out of the bedroom, feet light on the old wood floor as he focuses on trying to shut his bedroom door without a sound. 

The house is eerily quiet as he makes his way into the kitchen, flicking on the bright fluorescent yellow lighting and opening the refrigerator, blue eyes bleary as he reaches for the cherry pie he and his grandmother made the past weekend. He cuts himself a piece and plates it before he’s plopping down at the kitchen table, his head supported by the hand that’s not currently holding a spoon.

“Darlin’, what in the world are you doing awake?” 

Evelyn stands in the doorway to the kitchen a few minutes later, arms crossed over her robe as she watches her grandson in amusement. 

“I’ve _been_ awake,” Louis mumbles around the spoon, glancing up at Evelyn with tired eyes. His body feels dead, truthfully, and he’s not sure if it’s just because he’s spent the last four hours writing like a machine at his desk. He’ll still have to type it all up, but he’s cliche and old-school and prefers typing up his drafts on the old typewriter Cliff and Evelyn gifted him after he graduated high school. That, of course, is in his room back in New York. 

Evelyn frowns, stepping into the kitchen. At first, Louis thinks she’s going to chastise him for being up so early and not getting rest, but to his surprise, she heads straight to the counter where he’s left the plate of pie out. When she sits down at the table next to him seconds later, she has her own plate set out in front of her.

Louis could cry. 

“Something’s wrong,” Evelyn notes, scooping up a piece of the slice into her spoon. “Did you get into a fuss with Harry?” She asks softly, frowning. 

Louis shakes his head, exhausted blue eyes trained on the plate in front of him. “No, he’s sleeping,” he says, folding his fingers underneath his cheek. There’s a beat of silence between them, just the two of them and the quiet hum of the wind outside the kitchen window. “I finished my draft.”

“Oh, that’s great, doll,” Evelyn smiles, tilting her head. “You’ve been workin’ day and night for that book to be finished. I’ll reckon it’s even better than your first,” his grandmother praises. Briefly, Louis thinks he could agree. It’s different — very different from the first. There’s really no murders, no mysteries. If anything, it feels rather authentic and very Louis. 

“But something else is bothering you,” she notes when Louis fails to respond. When Louis glances up, his grandmother is watching him with knowing grey eyes. Part of Louis doesn’t even think he has to explain what’s wrong for her to know. She’s always been ahead of Louis’ thoughts. “Nobody’s forcing you to leave, love.”

Louis sighs, scooping up some of the fallen cherries on his plate. “I can’t stay here, Nana,” he mumbles. “I love it here, I do. But I’ve got Z, I’ve got my job— I’m going to have to go through the entire editing process, all the publication nonsense,” he tells her. 

“I can’t imagine that there isn’t a way for you to do that here,” Evelyn frowns. “If not here, I’d imagine there are offices in Denver or Salt Lake that you could work out of,” she points out, thoughtful. 

Louis rubs his hand over his face, shaking his head mainly to himself. There’s plenty of ways to work from here, Louis knows that. But they were never supposed to be an option. He was supposed to write a book — his best book — and now he’s going to come out with heartbreak over a man he’s known for barely four months. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Louis laughs, sad and exhausted, slumping back against the wooden kitchen chair. “I can’t even consider staying here, Nana. It’s just— _pathetic_. I don’t even know him,” he mumbles. He can’t possibly consider staying in Wyoming for a _man_. A man he’s dated for the summer no less. “I’d get laughed at.”

Evelyn rolls her eyes lightly. “I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but love is crazy. It can make us do crazy things,” she turns her body towards Louis, a frown stretched across her lips. “It’s why those romance movies seem so silly sometimes,” she smiles. “You’re the happiest I’ve ever seen you, Louis. I don’t think you should deprive yourself of somethin’ lovely because you’re afraid to be looked at as crazy.”

“And pathetic. And boy-obsessed,” Louis adds, dramatic. 

“Maybe I’m a little biased, but I’d certainly consider moving across the country for Harry Styles, too,” Evelyn teases, leaning over and pinching Louis’ cheek gently. “He’s a sweet boy. Wouldn’t have introduced him to my favorite grandson if I thought he wasn’t worth your time,” she tells him. 

“Basically this is your fault,” Louis mumbles. If he’s being honest, most of it is his grandmother’s fault. If only he had just stayed inside and ignored the curly haired cowboy. 

Evelyn sighs, rolling her eyes playfully. “Come here,” she frowns, holding her arm out. Louis doesn’t even hesitate to scoot his chair closer to her, tipping his head against her shoulder. The exhaustion is getting to him, and he truly feels like he could close his eyes and drift off to sleep on his grandmother’s shoulder. It’s comforting, it always has been.

“The summer isn’t over yet, doll. Nobody’s rushin’ you out of town,” she says, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “You said you’d stay for the summer, so just _enjoy_ the summer. Don’t have to make any decisions now.”

Louis sighs, wrapping his arms loosely around Evelyn’s middle. He feels like a child again, and it should feel pathetic, but it’s the comfort that he needs right now.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He can’t stay in Wyoming— it’s not his home. He can’t pretend that it is. He has Zayn, he has his career, and he can’t throw that all away for a boy, right? 

He knows long distance is an option, but he’d rather not think about it. He doesn’t like the idea of going from sleeping in each other’s beds together every single night to getting to see each other every few months. He couldn’t ask that of Harry, and he really doesn’t think he’d be able to survive it either. How can he go from constantly seeing Harry to trying to keep a relationship going across the country?

“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to make any decisions,” Louis closes his eyes. He can’t imagine that either choice he makes won’t end in disappointing someone. That’s certainly the last thing he wants to do, and yet it seems like it’s the only sure thing that will come out from the end of this summer. 

“Think I’m gonna go back to bed for now,” Louis admits, slowly peeling himself away from his grandmother’s arms. His head is throbbing, and considering the fact that he got a total of four hours of sleep, he can’t see himself making it past ten in the morning without passing out. 

Evelyn smiles, squeezing Louis’ waist before letting him go. “Go rest that pretty head of yours,” she says, pulling Louis’ empty plate towards her. “And stop your worryin’.”

Louis offers a smile but doesn’t say anything. Pressing a kiss to Evelyn’s cheek, he finally pushes himself up from the table. For now, there’s nothing he can do. And there’s not much he can focus on when his head is throbbing and threatening to explode. He’s going to at least let himself enjoy a few more hours of sleep. 

When Louis makes it back to his bedroom, Harry’s still buried under the covers. It’s bright in the room now, the sun’s properly come up and is shining prominently through his window. With the way Louis’ feeling, though, he doesn’t think anything will hinder him from being able to fall asleep. 

Quietly, he climbs onto the bed, trying not to disturb Harry. The last thing he wants to do is have Harry waking up so early on his day off. Shuffling underneath the covers, Louis tries his hardest not to move around too much. Very carefully, he lays his head down on the pillow, finally closing his eyes for what feels like the first time in days. Maybe he can convince Harry to stay in bed all day. 

As he’s slowly getting lost within possibilities for the day, Louis barely notices the rustling behind him and the arm that wraps around his middle, tugging him closer. As much as Louis wants to pretend he’s sleeping and avoid talking while he’s still very much in his head, he can’t hold back the soft breath he lets out. Harry’s chin is hooking over his shoulder a few seconds later, the man’s hand slipping underneath his sweatshirt. 

“Was trying to go back to sleep,” Louis murmurs quietly, keeping his eyes closed. He can feel Harry smile against his neck, fingertips tracing lightly over his stomach. 

“Felt you get out of bed earlier. Writin’ again?” Harry hums lightly, voice rough from sleep. It’s become one of Louis’ favorite sounds during the past few weeks, and Louis feels sick thinking about how soon this is going to come to an end.

He shouldn’t have let it get this far. He’s been selfish, and he knows it’s only going to result in the both of them getting hurt. 

Louis nods, shuffling around until he’s pressing his face into Harry’s bare chest, Harry’s face nuzzling into his hair only seconds later. Harry’s warm, and still smells fresh from the bath they shared the night before. A relaxing moment for the both of them, Louis recalls, and all he wants to do is rewind a few hours. Maybe a week or so. 

“Wanna stay in bed all day,” Louis mumbles, the sound getting lost against Harry’s chest. Focused on the faint thump of Harry’s heartbeat underneath his head, he almost misses the feeling of Harry smiling against the top of his head. 

“Alright, baby,” Harry teases lightly. “Gonna have to get out of bed eventually, y’know. Can’t stay in bed forever.”

Louis grumbles against his chest. “Can,” he argues. 

“Have to go to the kitchen to eat,” Harry grins into his hair. 

“Already had pie,” Louis mumbles. 

“What? When?” Harry laughs, deep and rumbling in his chest.

Louis pauses. “Twenty minutes ago.”

“You’re insane,” Harry snorts, sighing to himself. “Have to eat somethin’ more than just pie, darlin’.”

Louis shakes his head, letting out a little huff against the man’s chest. “I’ll live.”

“I’ll bring you food in bed, then,” Harry decides, dipping his hand underneath Louis’ sweatshirt again. Harry’s hand is warm and welcomed, and all Louis wants to do is melt into the touch. 

“Don’t want you to leave the bed either,” Louis grumbles.

“And what if one of us has to piss?” Harry teases. Louis groans in response, biting lightly at Harry’s pec in annoyance.

“I hate you,” he decides, pushing himself away. He doesn’t move very far, though, not with Harry’s stupid grip on his waist. 

“I love you,” Harry returns, and Louis has to ignore that those words have come at the very worst time. 

It’s not that Louis doesn’t feel the same way; he feels _so_ strongly about Harry, and if he doesn’t love him right now, Louis’ very much aware that he’s just about there. Out of all his past relationships, he’s never felt so strongly about someone so quickly like he feels for Harry. It’s just his luck that Harry has to live two thousand miles away from him. 

Nothing in life is fair, is it?

“It’s a little too soon, isn’t it?” Harry mumbles, and when Louis looks up at him, the boy has a sheepish bordering nervous grin on his face. In the golden light, his cheeks are tinted red, and Louis feels guilty over his silence. 

“No,” Louis murmurs, squirming a hand up between their bodies to cup Harry’s cheek. Harry’s stubble tickles his palm, and Louis tips his head up to press a light kiss to Harry’s chin. 

“I love you, too,” Louis finally says, trying to ignore the way guilt is eating up his stomach. It’s not a lie, not even close. But he can’t help but think it’d be so much easier to lie, to tell Harry that, no, this is just something fun. How much easier it would be just to pretend like Harry’s the only one who feels so strongly. 

Might as well ruin it all now before it has to come to an end, right? 

But Louis can’t bring himself to do so. He’s being selfish — he’s constantly being selfish when it comes to Harry. He knows what he’s getting himself into and it just seems like he’s digging himself a deeper and deeper grave by the second. 

They’re going to have to talk eventually. But maybe his grandmother is right; he still has until the end of the summer to figure everything out. 

Is he really that terrible for wanting to spend the rest of it with Harry? 

Harry smiles, arms wrapping tightly around Louis’ middle and pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’ head. Closing his eyes, Louis tries not to think about the future conversation he’s dreading. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“I haven’t ridden a horse in years, Harry,” Louis sighs, dragging his feet across the hay-covered floor as he trails behind Harry, the two of them entering the stable. 

“Said you’ve ridden other things since then, baby,” Harry reminds cheekily, glancing over his shoulder. “I reckon I’ve watched you ride somethin’ since then.”

Louis narrows his eyes as his cheeks tint pink. He hates him. 

“Besides, I’m not askin’ you to ride a wild stallion,” Harry adds, reaching back for Louis’ hand. In his other hand, he’s carrying their picnic basket, courtesy of Evelyn. “You need me to find you a pony?”

Louis glares at him. “I’m not—”

“You are,” Harry finishes before Louis can even finish refuting his height. 

“I don’t need a pony to ride,” Louis mumbles, shaking his head as follows Harry down the open hall of the stable. 

Harry grins, raising an eyebrow as if he doesn’t believe Louis. Instead of arguing further, however, he stops in front of one of the stalls, putting down the picnic basket and reluctantly lets go of Louis’ hand. “You can ride Katie,” he decides just as the horse noses up to the bars of the stall. Katie, Louis assumes, is dappled grey, though lighter in color with a pink tinted nose and dark grey hair fanning over her forehead. Just from the view outside of the stall, she’s gorgeous. 

“She’s sweet. She ain’t gonna give you any trouble,” Harry promises, holding his hand out and letting the mare nudge her nose against his palm before he reached out to rub over her face. “She’ll keep you safe. Not that I wouldn’t in the first place,” he tsks, aiming a smile towards Louis. 

Louis hums, picking up the picnic basket. He believes him— he doesn’t doubt that Harry would meticulously choose which horse would be the best fit for Louis. 

“Who’s the lucky horse for you?” Louis asks after a bit as he watches Harry finish saddling up Katie, the mare calm under the work of Harry’s hands. 

“My boy Pete, of course,” Harry grins, fastening the bridle before handing off the reins to Louis. When Louis’ eyes raise, he just shakes his head fondly. “She’s not going anywhere. Rope’s still attached to the pole. Get to know her a bit,” he teases, squeezing Louis’ shoulder before he’s heading in front of another stall.

“Who’s Pete?” Louis questions, slowly lowering the picnic basket to the floor of the barn and carefully offering his palm towards the mare. To his surprise, Katie nuzzles his nose against it only seconds later.

“He’s a baby,” Harry grins, glancing back at Louis. “Actually, was the first foal I helped birth with Cliff,” he says casually just as a light bay colored head peeks out through the bars of the stall, nudging Harry’s cowboy hat off with his nose. Louis can’t stifle his giggle at Harry’s shocked expression, turning his head to face the horse. “You rascal,” Harry warns, laughing as he points a faux-threatening finger towards Pete.

“I didn’t know you birthed horses,” Louis chuckles, grinning as Harry goes to open the stall after he’s repositioned the hat back on top of his head.

“‘Course I’ve birthed horses. Birthed Winnie too, you know that?” Harry grins, shaking his head. “Pete’s my first baby, though. Your grandfather even let me name ‘im.”

“So you picked Pete?” Louis muses. 

“Actin’ like Pete isn’t a cute name,” Harry rolls his eyes, disappearing into the stall with the horse. “Ever heard of Pete Seeger?”

Louis knows where this is going, and in all reality, he just can’t believe Harry’s a real person. He’s in love with a man who named his first horse after a folk musician and social activist. 

He lets Harry gush on about Seeger’s activism and influence among the working class as he brushes down Pete and gets him ready for their ride. By the time Harry finishes saddling Pete up, Louis’ learned more than he expected to in the span of twenty minutes and promised that Harry can spin his favorites on his record player for him to hear the next time Louis comes over. Louis already knows he’ll love it, simply just from the smile that’s on Harry’s face as he talks about his passion. 

Once Pete’s saddled up, Harry takes the picnic basket from Louis, hooking it to the horn of Pete’s saddle and making sure it’s secure. Louis watches him as he gets distracted by the equipment on the side of the stable, a smirk on his face as he glances back at Louis. 

“I don’t think we need that for a casual ride, H,” Louis squints at the taller man as Harry lifts the riding crop off of the hook.

“Could use it later,” Harry teases, playfully tapping it against Louis’ ass. Louis’ cheeks go pink, letting out a little noise of surprise as the crop stings through his jeans. 

“You’re being indecent,” Louis hisses, carefully moving his hands up to cover Katie’s ears as if she could understand. “She can hear you.”

“I didn’t say nothin’ suggestive,” Harry teases, running his finger along the crop before he finally retires it to its original position on the wall. Louis makes a point not to let his thoughts drift into all the suggestive corners of Harry’s joke of using the crop later. Rihanna once said something about having chains and whips excite her, didn’t she?

Rolling his eyes, Louis turns towards Katie and unties the rope that keeps her close to the pole. He eyes the stirrups, both mentally and physically preparing himself for the climb onto her back. Her height is average for a horse, and Louis’ taller than her by a few inches, but it doesn’t make it any easier to climb onto the saddle. 

“Need some help, baby?” Harry teases as if he can read Louis’ mind.

“I’m fine,” Louis insists, lifting his foot onto the stirrup and preparing himself to swing his other leg over her back. He barely gets a chance to attempt, however, because within a few seconds, Harry’s hands are on his waist anyway, helping to lift him on top of Katie. 

“It’s a lot easier to thank me than it is to huff and puff at me, darlin’,” Harry teases, squeezing Louis’ thigh before he steps back from Katie and Louis only to climb onto Pete’s back after untying his respective rope from the pole. 

“I’m ignoring you, actually,” Louis grumbles, taking Katie’s reins into his hands. It’s been a while since he’s ridden a horse— the last time he was on a horse must’ve been during his last visit to his grandparents’. Although it’s been a while, and although Louis made quite the scene about having not ridden a horse in years, being on top of Katie brings Louis back into a familiar feeling of ease. He’s forgotten just how much fun it is to go out for a ride. 

Harry leads them out of the stables easily, setting them at a slow place for their ride. The destination Harry’s chosen for their picnic is only twenty minutes north of Louis’ grandparents’ farm and away from all major (minor, in Louis’ opinion) areas of traffic. Harry leads them through a shallow crystal blue river, pine brush and rocks lining the area as they cross. It’s then that they’re traveling uphill, along the side of a mountain. To Louis’ reassurance, Harry’s promised him that they surely won’t be coming across any bears. Louis just hopes that the teasing smile on Harry’s face when he says it is a lot more serious than it looks.

Louis takes the job of setting up their picnic area when they get to Harry’s secret area of the mountain, the cowboy tying both Pete and Katie to a nearby tree for the time being. It’s a small area off the side of the mountain, elevated above the river that they crossed over earlier in their journey. As Louis sets the blanket down, he can hear the faint rush of the waterfall upstream alongside a number of birds resting in the trees surrounding them. Straight across is the scene of another neighboring mountain, pine brush and flora dusting over the edges of the mountain. It’s gorgeous, and if he had remembered to bring his notebook along with him, Louis would surely be attempting to scramble down prose about how heavenly the scene is. 

Instead, and unsurprisingly enough, Harry’s a complete distraction from the scenery. Half-way into their shared meal of biscuits, fruit, and sandwiches, Harry’s hand-feeding Louis strawberries and Louis’ trying his hardest not to swoon. It doesn’t work. Especially once Harry’s tossing grapes a few feet away from their picnic area to watch the birds swoop down and eat them. With the leftover apples that Harry and Louis failed to touch, Harry happily awards Pete and Katie the solid fruit. Louis’ stomach turns over at the sight, body warm as he watches his boyfriend feed the horses. 

“I don’t know how you manage to find the most beautiful places,” Louis tells Harry once he’s settled back down, the two horses happily chomping down on their apples only feet away. 

“I’m surprised you ain’t writin’ about it yet,” Harry teases back, mimicking the act of scribbling down on his hand. “Reckon you woulda had your little notebook out by now.”

Louis manages a smile, glancing down at his lap. “It’s actually been collecting a bit of dust on my desk,” he says after a beat of silence, debating on his next words. He knows it’d be much easier to tell Harry now, and as much as he doesn’t want to, as much as he feels his stomach churn at the idea of the impending conversation, he knows that it’s better to say it now. “Sort of finished my book.”

“I didn’t know you finished writin’,” Harry smiles, adjusting his hat before he takes it off and rests it in his lap. 

Louis shrugs his shoulders, tracing his fingers over the grass. “The other morning,” Louis admits. He’s drawing shapes into the dirt now as he feels Harry’s curious gaze heat through him.

“I reckon it’s even better than the first,” Harry grins, leaning back on the palms of his hands.

“That was the plan,” Louis muses. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s arrogant, but he knows it’s better than anything he’s written before. “I’m going to have to take it to my editor, see what they think.”

Harry hums, sipping quietly on his iced tea. 

“You could come with me?” Louis suggests quickly, hands fumbling in his lap as he crosses his legs. “Zayn wouldn’t mind— it’ll be nice for you guys to meet. I can show you all my favorite places around the city.

Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowed together and looking at Louis incredulously. “Come with you to New York?”

Louis shifts uncomfortably on the picnic blanket, opening his mouth to respond. He’s ansty, and with the way Harry’s looking at him, he doesn’t think he could sit still if he tried. “I think you’d like it,” Louis offers weakly, fixing his fringe. For a moment, even trying to picture Harry in New York seems a little silly. Even with as crazy as fashion can be in Manhattan, Harry would stick out like a sore thumb. 

“What, like a weeklong trip?” Harry suggests.

“No— I mean. I don’t know. As long as you want, I guess,” Louis backtracks.

“As long as I want,” Harry repeats blankly, a frown slowly forming across his lips. “Louis, I can’t _move_ to New York. I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to suggest,” he tells him, and Louis doesn’t even bother to look up at him now, knows that this is all going downhill very fast. 

There was nothing even suggesting the idea that Harry would even consider moving out of Wyoming whether it be temporary or permanent. If Louis’ being honest, he can’t even see Harry liking it for more than a quick trip to meet Louis’ friends and family. Harry lives and breathes the country, he’s so loved here, and there’s a reason why Harry’s never dreamed of leaving the farm. 

“Who’s going to be here on the farm? I can’t— Cliff needs my help. I’ve got little Winnie to take care of,” Harry frowns.

“Well, I can’t stay here,” Louis blurts out. His voice is a little frantic now, and when Louis looks up, he feels sick to his stomach when he sees Harry’s hurt expression. “This isn’t _my_ home,” he says, his gaze bouncing all over the place in an attempt not to watch Harry for too long.

There’s silence between them, and although it’s only a few seconds of quietness, it feels like forever for Louis. He’s nauseous by the time he hears Harry speak.

“Are you sayin’ those are the only two options?” Harry sucks in a sharp breath, and Louis almost wants to laugh. What other options are there for them? 

Harry must’ve known what he was getting himself into when he met Louis, right? From the start, Louis said he was here for the summer to write his book. This can’t all be Louis’ fault. He can’t be blamed for this. 

“You at least have family here. Family who loves you, nonetheless. What do I have in New York?” Harry blinks, and there’s a harshened tone to Harry’s voice that wasn’t there before, and all Louis can think about is how stupid he’s been. How selfish he’s been for letting this all to happen. Allowing himself to be happy, even if just for a few months, led to this very point. “I ain’t even have a degree, Louis. What the fuck is there for me to do in New York?”

Louis’ throat feels dry as he swallows, and there’s a slight burning to his eyes as he stares down at the blanket. He blinks through the wetness, not allowing himself to look up at Harry. He doesn’t think he could handle it right now. “You _wanted_ to go to college. You can still go to college. You can study law, there’s plenty of schools in New York that would take you in,” Louis rambles, chewing harshly on his bottom lip.

Harry laughs stiffly, shaking his head and looking away from Louis. “You won’t even consider stayin’ here, huh?”

“That’s not—” 

“Why do I have to be the one that’s makin’ changes? I’ve got nothin’ in New York. No friends, no job, nothin’. Your first thought is for me to move to you, to get some fuckin’ piece of paper that means shit,” Harry rasps, jaw set tight. “Do you really think that lowly of me? Or is it that you think so highly of yourself? Somehow your life is better than mine, that you’ve got some job that you’ve earned from a bloody piece of paper?”

Louis rubs his hands over his face, shaking his head. “H, no— you know I don’t think like that—”

“Do I?” Harry asks blankly. “I don’t know if I do, Louis.”

Louis closes his eyes, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. “You know I was just here for the summer,” he says. His voice is shaky, feels like everything inside of him is going to crumble out and unravel right in front of Harry’s eyes. He clenches his hands into fists in his lap, trying his hardest to focus on anything but the wetness that’s clouding his sight. “I was here for the summer. I was here for my book. I can’t— I can’t up and move my life for you either.”

“I wasn’t askin’ you to!” Harry throws his hands up, voice incredulous. “You asked _me._ That’s the difference here, Louis.”

“Harry—”

“Forget it, Louis,” Harry mumbles, throwing his hat back on and pushing himself up into a standing position. Louis closes his eyes, tugging his legs to his chest in comfort. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Let’s go.”

Louis lets out a shaky breath, his body exhausted from the argument already. “I’m _sorry_.”

Harry shakes his head, picking up their glasses and shoving them into the basket. When Louis’ certain that Harry’s not going to respond, he finally unwraps his arms from his legs and wipes away the wetness from his cheeks. 

At least they’re on the same page, right? Louis certainly doesn’t want to talk about this anymore either. He’s spent the past few weeks thinking about it, thinking about how Harry was going to react, thinking about how all of this was going to work. He’s wasted so much time worrying himself to death, and it doesn’t even matter. Not when Harry’s response is to _forget it_. 

All this conversation has done is made Louis feel like he’s going to get sick. He doesn’t know what comes after this, what Harry wants. When they get back to the farm, are they going to walk inside and pretend like everything’s fine? Are they going to pretend like Louis hadn’t just asked Harry to drop everything and come all the way over to New York?

He’s stupid for even considering the question, for allowing it to leave his mouth. All Louis can think about now is the harsh line of Harry’s jaw as he’s folding up the blanket, shoving it into the basket. How he’s convinced that Louis thinks so lowly of him. That’s the last thing he wants Harry thinking. 

He can’t find the words to make this better, though, and he wants to laugh at how pathetic that is. The writer can’t find the words to make this better. How ironic is this?

He feels so drained by the time they’ve saddled up and returned to the stable, barely recalling the ride back to the farm. Fortunately for Louis, his grandparents aren’t to be seen, most likely inside having lunch. He doesn’t need them wrangling him and Harry into an awkward conversation.

They haven’t broken the silence since leaving the meadow, and Louis doesn’t think Harry’s looked at him once since then either. Everything feels so tense, so suffocating, and if he wasn’t holding onto Katie’s rope, he’d want to scream. _Look at me, talk to me, I’m sorry,_ are all cycling through Louis’ brain, but his mouth just isn’t playing fair anymore.

He doesn’t know how long it takes Harry to unsaddle both Pete and Katie, and part of Louis just thinks he’s stalling, trying to avoid talking to Louis and avoid acknowledging his presence for as long as he can. By the time Harry’s finished getting both of the horses into their respective stalls, securing everything in the stable as neat as can be, Louis is just standing in the middle of the barn, arms crossed securely over his chest as he waits for Harry. When Harry realizes he’s finished putting everything away, he’s frozen for a second like he’s trying to find something else to do. 

_Coward_ , Louis wants to shout.

“Don’t know why you’re standing there,” Harry says instead, not bothering to look in Louis’ direction. It hits Louis like a knife to the chest, and he has to bite his lip hard to stop himself from focusing on Harry’s words, his tone. “Might not be much to you, but I’ve got work to do,” Harry fixes his cowboy hat, picking up the forgotten picnic basket.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Louis sighs, blue eyes wet as he stares across at Harry. Harry’s the one avoiding his gaze now, and it takes everything inside of Louis to stop himself screaming for Harry’s attention. “You do a lot. You do so much. I _know_ that, Harry. I’ve seen everything you do, I’m not— I didn’t mean anything like that,” he says, defeated.

Harry shakes his head slightly, lips falling into a frown. 

Louis knows Harry doesn’t want to talk about it any longer. He doesn’t know what this means for them, what it means when Harry finally walks right past him and out of the barn. 

But he doesn’t think it’s going to be good. 

Louis hates that he’s been so selfish, and he hates even more that he’s continuing to be selfish. There’s no way for him to stay here, and there’s a part of Louis that knows that there’s no possible way for Harry to ever go to New York. He’d be miserable, and Louis doesn’t want that. As much as he wants them to be together, he knows he can’t seriously ask that of Harry. And yet he still did.

When he gets back into the house, neither Cliff nor Eve try to stop him on his way past the living room. He’s too exhausted to try and conceal the way his cheeks must be splotchy by now, but he’s thankful that he doesn’t have to talk about it. 

He doesn’t sleep that night either. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

By the end of the week, Louis still hasn’t seen Harry.

He tries not to focus on it. Tries not to get worried when he hasn’t seen the curly haired cowboy outside in the field. He doesn’t doubt that he’s still around helping — he knows that Harry’s not going to take his frustrations out on his grandparents or the farm. If there’s one thing Harry is, it’s not petty. Something tells him that Harry’s just learned where he can work without being interrupted or seen by Louis. 

It’s bothering him, though. Tomorrow’s _September_ , and the last thing Louis wants to do is have to _assume_ that things are over. He’d like confirmation, right? Three more weeks and Louis’ up and gone to New York. Louis knows that Harry’s not coming with.

As much as he’s preparing himself for the inevitable, Louis doesn’t want things to be over. He doesn’t want to have his heart broken, and he certainly doesn’t want to break Harry’s either. 

For now, the only thing Louis is certain about, is that they need to talk. 

When his grandfather’s out in the field and Harry’s nowhere to be seen, Louis doesn’t think twice before he’s snatching the keys to the truck off of the counter and slipping out of the house. 

He’s prepared himself for the worst, and he thinks he’s ready. If it goes to shit, he’ll just book an early flight home. There’s no reason to stay longer, and as much as he loves his grandparents, he really doesn’t want to be wallowing away in his last few weeks with them. His book’s done, he’s ready to move on.

As soon as he approaches the truck, Louis feels a nudge to his leg. When he looks down, Winnie’s staring up at him, rubbing her little head on his leg. She’s grown in the past few months he’s been here, but she’s still as tiny as ever, and Louis’ chest swells as he looks down at the little farm animal. 

“Don’t tell me he’s forgotten about you, too,” Louis frowns, leaning down to pet over her curly little face. She leans into the touch, happy from the attention. “Alright, you’re coming with me,” Louis decides, lifting the baby sheep carefully from the ground. She’s a lot heavier than she was when Louis first met her, though he didn’t know it until now since Harry makes it look so easy when he lifts her up. 

“Can deal with Harry forgetting about me,” Louis grumbles as he sets Winnie into the passenger seat, the little animal curling herself up on the truck’s leather seat. “But we’re not going to let him get away with forgetting about you,” he huffs as he climbs into the driver’s seat. He’ll ignore the fact that Winnie seems unbothered by this, happily laying in the truck with Louis. Oh well. If anything, she’s here for some mental support.

And it won’t hurt for Winnie to make a little visit to Harry anyway. 

It takes ten minutes for Louis to get to Harry’s, and as soon as he pulls up to the small ranch, he can see him on the porch, staring right at the truck. It makes Louis swallow nervously, and there’s a part of him that’s ready to put the truck in reverse and flee. There’s also a part of him that’s not confident enough in his driving abilities not to look like a complete idiot while he’s doing that.

So, he sucks it up. Taking in a deep breath, Louis glances over at Winnie and shuts off the truck. 

“I’m sorry, love,” Louis sighs before he’s kicking the door open and reaching over to maneuver Winnie into his arms, climbing out of the truck with a little bit of difficulty. He kicks the door shut blindly, setting Winnie on the ground in front of him. She blinks up at him, unsure, before Louis points in Harry’s direction and she follows the movement to the sight of Harry. 

When Louis gathers enough confidence to look up and glance at Harry, Harry’s looking back at them with a raised eyebrow and amusement on his face.

Good. So at least he’s not scowling at the sight of Louis, right? It’s a good sign.

Unfortunately for Louis, Winnie doesn’t move. She’s never failed to be excited at the mere presence of Harry, but now? _Now_ her attention is completely on the grass, nibbling on the small clover patches decorating Harry’s lawn. It’s almost as if she couldn’t care less about being used as an excuse to come see Harry. She won’t even play her part. 

Louis can already feel the heat rising to his cheeks from Harry’s gaze on him, and God, Louis doesn’t do well with confrontation. Without thinking, he’s bending down to gently shove at Winnie’s behind, attempting to push her forward and in Harry’s direction. 

The baby sheep makes a little disgruntled noise, glancing back at Louis in what Louis can guess is annoyance. For a second, Louis thinks she’s going to understand. 

He’s desperate. 

She just continues to eat. 

Louis closes his eyes in embarrassment when he hears a chuckle from the front of the house, taking in a slow and steady breath. When he glances up at the porch, Harry’s smirking in his direction, green eyes flickering back and forth between Louis and the lamb between them. 

“She misses you,” Louis blurts out, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Does she?” Harry asks, amusement seeping through his voice. 

At this point, all Louis wants to do is jump back in the truck. He trusts Harry enough to safely bring Winnie back to the farm. He just doesn’t think he’ll be able to last through this conversation. 

“Yeah,” Louis starts, glancing down at the little traitor between them. “She was… really upset.”

Harry brushes his hands, stepping down from the porch. “She looks very upset,” he deadpans. When Louis looks back up, Harry’s leaning against the side of the porch watching him. He takes in a breath, looking back down at Winnie who continues to graze over Harry’s lawn. 

“She’s so upset she’s ignoring you right now,” Louis decides, flickering his gaze up towards Harry. _Something you could relate to_ , Louis wants to say. 

“Right,” Harry muses. “That’s why you’re here, then? For Winnie?”

Louis bites the inside of his cheek, shifting his weight between his feet. “Yes.” Even if Winnie was cooperating with him, Louis still isn’t sure if his excuse is believable. 

“She ain’t that upset,” Harry shakes his head, walking closer to Winnie. The sheep isn’t bothered, barely noticing the movements between the two boys. “I saw her this morning. She’s fine.”

Louis frowns at that information. As relieved as Louis is that Harry hasn’t been taking out his frustrations with Louis on his relationship with the lamb, he can’t help but feel a little upset at the confirmation that Harry _has_ been at the farm and avoiding him. Scratch that— he feels _very_ upset at that information. 

“Well, she told me she was upset, so. Someone’s lying here,” Louis says. Out of the three of them, it’s easy to tell who the liar is. 

It isn’t Harry. And it definitely isn’t Winnie.

And it surely isn’t Louis. _God_. 

“She talks now?”

Louis nods his head. “You wouldn’t know ‘cause she’s upset with you.”

Harry snorts, crouching down to rub Winnie’s head. “She’s not upset. She’s eatin’ my grass.”

“She’s eating _her feelings_ ,” Louis argues, squinting. 

Harry raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Is that what she’s doin’?” 

Louis nods his confirmation. He’s ready to eat his feelings, too. He’s not going to think about the half of a pie he’s consumed in the past two days. It’s not his fault he’s been in his feelings and weak-willed to his grandmother’s attempts to thicken him up. “Or she’s trying to destroy your lawn in an effort to get back at you,” he reasons. 

“She seems very vengeful,” Harry drawls, dragging out the syllables. 

Louis frowns, trying not to feel so silly about using Winnie as an excuse. That, and guilty. He’s not too sure if Winnie understands the concept of using someone, but he surely hopes that she doesn’t.

Standing here, in front of Harry, failing to convince him that this little baby sheep is upset with him, Louis realizes that he really just wants things to return to their previous normalcy. And he’s not going to get that unless he kicks aside his own ego.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Arms still crossed over his chest, Louis toes at the grass with the tip of his shoe while he pauses to string together his thoughts. “I don’t want to fight,” he tells him, blue eyes flickering towards Harry hesitantly. “Not in front of Winnie — not at all, honestly. But— I wanted to apologize. I should’ve never suggested that, and I _don’t_ think of you so lowly. I’m amazed by everything you do here— for your friends, for my grandparents, for Winnie. Everyone’s so lucky to have you. This is your _home_. I couldn’t — I _shouldn’t_ have asked you that.”—Louis sucks in a deep breath—“I just— I think I got too attached here. To you. To the farm. To Winnie. _Everything_. But I— I also can’t leave _my_ home. So— I panicked. And it wasn’t fair to you. And I’ve been thinking about it a lot— actually I’ve been thinking too much, I think— but I don’t want to lose this either,” Louis’ rambling by the end of it, and it’s not until he’s running out of breath that he realizes he hasn’t given Harry a chance to speak.

When he chances a look at Harry, there’s a frown on his face, like he’s still trying to process Louis’ words. Louis can’t blame him, really, considering he just threw every word he could think of out at Harry. His hand is still petting over Winnie’s soft wool, eyebrows furrowed as he meets Louis’ gaze. 

“So. Neither of us want to move,” Harry repeats, and Louis quietly nods in response. 

“I don’t know what this means for us,” Louis says, his voice hesitant as Harry stands up. Winnie, fortunately, is still preoccupied with eating the man’s grass to care too much about the lack of pets she’s getting from Harry.

Harry’s quiet for a long time, leather boots kicking at the same lawn that Winnie’s mowing down. Louis isn’t too sure he’s going to speak, but finally, Harry says, “Does it have to mean anythin’?”

It shouldn’t be that simple, Louis knows that. But for now, Louis doesn’t have the energy to think about it any longer. He’s tired of pretending like he’d be okay with the two of them calling it quits. Especially when for the most part, he’s pretty sure a break up would just crush him at this point. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Louis returns to New York the third week of September. It’s bittersweet, and part of Louis feels a relief in stepping into the city that he’s known and loved for so long. Zayn picks him up from JFK the morning of, and after a nap on their couch, he spends the rest of the day catching up with his best friend. 

Gigi comes over the next day, and like Louis expected from all the things Zayn’s told him about her already, she’s lovely when he properly meets her for the first time. She’s sweet, and is very excited to hear all about Louis’ summer in Wyoming and the book he’s written. She and Zayn are disgustingly cute, constantly up in each other’s space, and part of Louis wants to gag and the other part of Louis wishes that he was back being disgustingly cute with Harry.

Speaking of Harry, Louis’ barely put his phone down since he’s been home. For the most part, Harry isn’t a crazy texter; thanks to working with his hands all day, whether it’s in the field, on a tractor, or simply just painting in his garage, he doesn’t have all too much free time to check his phone. Considering that, he actually has texted Louis a few times, sending him a string of kissy faces when Louis had confirmed that he landed safely in New York.

He’s lounging on the couch when he gets a text from Harry while Gigi and Zayn are in the kitchen, Gigi teaching Zayn how to make some sort of extravagant pasta dish. He hasn’t known Gigi very long, but if she’s going to teach Zayn how to cook something more than biryani (as much as Louis loves it, it gets old when it’s the only thing Zayn can offer in the kitchen), Louis definitely doesn’t mind having her around. 

When Louis opens the text, he’s met with a selfie of Harry and Winnie, the man puckering his lips for a kiss to the camera, the message reading:

**winnie missing mommy!! :)**

Louis grins, shaking his head to himself as he reads over the text and looks at the picture again. 

_cute !!! missing her too :( :( :(_

His phone chimes a minute later. 

**what about me? :(**

**__** _who?_

**:( :( :(**

**__** _kiiidding <3 of course i miss you :)_

**:D miss u**

**send ass pics pls <3**

Louis rolls his eyes when his phone chimes with the second message, biting the inside of his cheek as he thumbs out a response.

_not in front of winnie ! go be a good daddy !!_

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“Is that him again?” Gigi asks at the sound of Louis’ text tone, pinning a part of the quilted jacket at the hem and fitting it towards Louis’ waist. Zayn had kicked them out of the apartment two hours ago, begging the two for just a few hours so he could finish up a commission that was due tonight. Louis had pouted, petulant and wondering what in the world he had done for his best friend to start kicking him out of their shared apartment. 

He couldn’t even go hang out with his boyfriend. 

Gigi, being the angel she was, didn’t hesitate twice to invite Louis up to her apartment. Naturally, she was able to convince Louis to help her model some garments she had been working on. After the first compliment on Louis’ _beautiful natural form,_ he was sold. 

Louis doesn’t even have to look at his phone to know it’s Harry— the text tone is more than enough. 

“He sounds like a keeper,” Gigi smiles, wrapping her measuring tape around the circumference of Louis’ wrist. 

“He’s sort of like a dream,” Louis admits, careful not to jostle any of the pins as he reaches for his phone.

“He looks like one too,” she teases when Louis’ phone lock screen lights up, the blue eyed boy tapping his password to unlock it.

“Don’t let Z hear you say that,” he snorts, smiling absently when he reads the text from Harry.

**had to chase winfred down again >:/ **

**didn’t run into any pretty boys this time tho :(**

Louis can’t help but laugh as he imagines Winnie scurrying off yet again on one of their daily walks. As much as she loves Harry, they’re both well aware that she likes to play a bit of a brat. Like a bull in a china shop, Louis teases. 

“Please,” Gigi laughs. “He’d agree with me. Besides, Zayn’s a dream to _me_ and he knows that,” she clarifies, humming to herself. Louis smiles at that, Louis gets it— he’d also agree Zayn’s a dream. All those times of begging Zayn to fuck off to Iceland with him and elope really were great ideas. Even if his feelings for Zayn are nothing more than platonic, he still stands by his past plans. “He’s cute— obsessed with you just as much as he’s obsessed with that little lamb of his.”

Louis smiles at Gigi’s mention of Winnie, tilting his phone so Gigi could read the message about Winnie. “He’s _so_ obsessed with her, Gi. Makes videos with her all the time,” he groans. 

Gigi giggles. “Zayn showed me a few videos where he put the little cat-ear filter on her. He was so confused why his story was _just_ Winnie for five minutes straight.”

Louis laughs, immediately pulling up Harry’s TikTok account and tilting his phone towards Gigi. “He makes TikTok videos with her, too.”

“Stop!” Gigi squeals, dropping her measuring tape and letting the pins fall to the floor. She doesn’t even bother to care that they’re both a step away from getting stabbed in the foot with them, instead snatching Louis’ phone from him and scrolling through his account. “He’s _famous_ on TikTok?”

When Zayn finally finishes his commission and steps into Gigi’s apartment hours later, he finds Louis and Gigi still giggling over Harry’s sweet TikTok videos with Winnie, wine drunk and happy. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

It takes Louis three weeks to realize he really hates long distance. He realizes that it’s not the worst time zone difference, as Harry’s only behind him by two hours, but it doesn’t make him hate it any less. Regardless of the time zones, he and Harry are on completely different schedules. 

Between meeting with publishers and editors, Louis realizes that there’s not much overlap between their schedules. Whenever Louis’ busy, Harry’s not, and when Louis has an ounce of free time, Harry’s working in the fields.

He and Harry try to call or FaceTime at night, since once the sun goes down, Harry’s usually not in the fields, but Louis feels rather guilty for keeping him up just to chat when he knows Harry has to be up at the crack of dawn the next morning. It’s frustrating, and while he knows it’s neither of their faults, Louis isn’t too sure how much longer they’re going to make it last. And he hates thinking like that. The last thing he wants is for this to crash and burn, but at the moment, Louis doesn’t know how he’s supposed to survive another three weeks of this let alone how long it takes until one of them can visit each other. 

No amount of calls, texts, or FaceTimes will compare to what they had over the summer. Louis was able to feel Harry’s arms around him, he was able to take stupid trips to different parts of the state at three AM just because Harry thought it was a good idea, and he was able to wake up to the sound of Harry snoring besides him, the man’s face pressed into his neck and arm wound tightly around Louis’ waist. 

Phone sex isn’t fun either. Not when Louis knows that that’s all they have until one of them cracks and buys a plane ticket. Phone sex was fun when his college boyfriend went home for the holidays and Louis knew he was going to see him in a week. Phone sex is _not_ fun when Louis’ current boyfriend lives two thousand miles away from him. 

He’s just… not taking it well. Since he’s been home and more time has passed, Louis’ getting irritable. He’s not trying to be, hates that he’s snapping and being rude for no reason. He hates that all he can do is stare at his phone and hope that in the next few seconds, Harry will call or text. He feels _pathetic_. 

It doesn’t take Zayn very much to notice either. 

“A watched pot never boils.”

Louis narrows his eyes at his phone on his lap, ignoring the way Zayn’s standing over him. “My boyfriend isn’t a pot of water, Zayn.”

Zayn sighs. “You know what I’m saying, Lou,” he says. For a minute, Louis thinks Zayn’s going to walk away, but instead, he grabs Louis’ phone and sits in front of him on the coffee table. “You’re miserable,” he says bluntly. 

Louis frowns. “I’m not,” he argues. It’s a lie and he knows it. Miserable is probably a pretty considerate way of saying it. 

“I know you,” Zayn reminds him, arching an eyebrow. Louis has to refrain himself from crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. Zayn does know him, and Louis is very much aware that he’s not able to hide anything from Zayn. The man knows him better than Louis knows himself, and frankly, it’s just annoying. 

“I’m going to break up with him,” Louis blurts out then, watching as Zayn’s face contorts into a mixture of confusion and surprise. 

“What?” Zayn frowns, glancing down at Louis’ phone. When he tips it forward, Louis’ phone screen illuminates to show his lockscreen. Unsurprisingly, it’s a picture of him and Harry that his grandmother took from the porch one day. He and Harry had been sitting in the field, some of the sheep grazing in the background. Winnie had climbed into Louis’ lap unexpectedly, and by some miracle, his grandmother had been able to capture the moment on her camera.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Louis says, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You know? The long distance. It’s so much and not enough at the same time.”

Zayn frowns, furrowing his eyebrows just the slightest bit as if he’s trying to comprehend Louis’ thoughts. “Babes, it’s barely been a month,” he points out. 

“I _know_ ,” Louis groans. “Don’t you get it? If I can barely last a month of this, how am I supposed to last any longer than that?” He sighs, glaring at the phone in Zayn’s hand. He’s tired of constantly waiting for the next time Harry will call or text him, hands practically glued to his phone so he doesn’t miss anything. 

“It’s long-distance. I don’t think there’s anything easy about that, Louis,” Zayn says, tapping his fingers absently against Louis’ phone screen. “It’s going to be hard. But if you really like him, it’s going to be worth it.”

“Is it?” Louis grumbles. “Because— we’re never going to have a future. Harry doesn’t want to move to the city, and I don’t want to move _from_ the city. This _is_ us. This will be us five months from now, five years from now, whatever it is.”

“Are you sure?”

Of course Louis is sure. The argument he had with Harry prior to them deciding on long distance solidified that to him. Harry’s home is Jackson, and Louis has to respect that. 

“That’s his home. We talked about it,” Louis explains, leaning back into the couch and wishing it would just eat him up.

“Are you sure _you_ wouldn’t move?” Zayn clarifies his question, and upon hearing it, Louis can’t control his face from distorting into confusion. He squints as he looks at Zayn, wondering where the question even stemmed from. 

“New York’s _my_ home. I have a job here, I have you. I love it here,” Louis frowns. 

“I know you do,” Zayn agrees, pausing for a moment. “But it’s not like your job forces you to be here. You did just fuck off to Wyoming for five months and nobody cared.” 

Louis pouts. “Glad to know nobody cared about me leaving, Z, thanks.”

Rolling his eyes, Zayn shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I meant, idiot,” he tells Louis. “I just mean that your job doesn’t really _keep_ you in New York. Really can’t use that excuse, you know?” 

In a sense, Louis does know. But there’s a stubborn part of his brain that refuses to accept that he could very well pack up his life and move across the country for a man. “I’m lucky enough not to be forced to write in an office, sure. But— I need to be here for editing and publishing, all the meetings with my publicist,” he argues. 

“I’ve seen you request a Zoom call when you’re too lazy to take the A train, Lou,” Zayn frowns. “There’s absolutely nothing at all that forces you to go into an office. You hate office days, babes.”

Louis can’t really argue with that. In his opinion, offices create such a boring energy, no matter how big of an attempt there is to make it exciting. He couldn’t care less about the crazy abstract furniture, tea and juice bars, or the neon signs that companies try to lure their employees in with. There’s nothing Louis hates more than having to sit down and work for somebody else. 

Zayn’s like him to that degree. Neither of them have bothered with setting up an office for them to work in at home, save for a desk or an easel just to make their tasks easier. Their spaces are more informal than anything else, with personal trinkets scattered around; Louis’ own being covered in piles of papers and some of his favorites from Zayn’s sketches. Their spaces just feel shared and intimate, _safe_ if Louis had to describe it. He knows for a fact that Zayn also doesn’t like working for someone else, that is unless it’s a commission or a community project he’s signed himself up for. He can’t ever imagine Zayn as a company’s resident artist or even working as an art teacher. 

“I can’t leave _you_ ,” Louis mumbles finally, fumbling with his fingers in his lap. Maybe it’s a little silly, when he realizes it, but it’s nothing but the truth. He doesn’t want to leave Zayn, can’t imagine not having Zayn in his life for anything more than a temporary few months. Since university, Zayn’s been a constant in his life, and Louis feels anything but welcomed by the idea of change. Not when it comes to him and Zayn. 

Zayn frowns, placing Louis’ phone down on the table besides him. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he looks over the blue-eyed boy trying to look at anything but Zayn. “Louis,” he starts, sighing. “I know what I said when you left. But I really don’t want to be the thing that’s keeping you here and from being happy.”

“I’m happy with you,” Louis insists, frowning. 

“Keeping you from being happy with someone else, I mean,” Zayn huffs, flicking his finger against Louis’ knee lightly. “I think you’re fucking crazy for that someone else to be from _Wyoming_ of all places, but he makes you happy. I’ve never seen you this happy before,” he says. “And if moving to Wyoming is going to keep you happy, then I don’t want to be the one to stop you.”

Louis sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Do you know how ridiculous it is to consider moving across a whole fucking country for a man, Z? Imagine if it doesn’t even work out? I’d look ridiculous. I’d feel fucking ridiculous.”

Zayn snorts. “It’s crazy,” he agrees, smiling. “But I get it. If I were you, I’d do it, too.”

“You’d move across the country for Gigi?” Louis mumbles, eyes flickering over Zayn’s face curiously. 

Zayn smiles slightly and he doesn’t hesitate to nod his head at the question. “I would,” he confirms. “And— it _is_ fuckin’ crazy, Lou. But I would. That’s why while I’ll think you’re absolutely insane, I understand it, babes.”

Louis sighs, rubbing at his cheek in defeat. Louis is able to come up with argument after argument, thanks to his stubbornness, but Zayn knows him better than anyone else. There’s nothing more left for him to throw at Zayn that the man won’t be able to deflect. 

“And you’re _never_ going to lose me,” Zayn promises, catching Louis’ attention once again. “I don’t care where in the world you are, Lou. You could fuck off to Alaska and you still wouldn’t lose me.”

“I guess Wyoming isn’t as bad as Alaska,” Louis mumbles.

Zayn shakes his head. “Wyoming is just as bad as Alaska,” he corrects. “S’not the point— I want you to be _happy_. Harry makes you happy, and I think you should go for it.”

When Louis looks up, Zayn’s smiling at him, and he can tell that he’s one hundred percent genuine about this. Louis knows that if the roles were swapped, he’d undoubtedly tell Zayn to go for it too. As much as he would’ve hated missing out on time with Zayn over the summer if he’d have been home when he had met Gigi, he was incredibly happy for him. As much as he knew that their friendship didn’t depend on the distance between them being small, it’s nice to hear the reminder and validation from Zayn. 

“And if you seriously think that you could get rid of me by moving to Wyoming, you’re hysterical,” Zayn adds, rolling his eyes. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

It’s not an easy decision to make, but on an impulsive moment of weakness, Louis finds himself in the back of a taxi on US 191 the following weekend. After another heart-to-heart with Zayn and a phone call with his grandparents, Louis gave into his admittedly crazy idea of moving to Wyoming.

_“You can’t tell him,” Louis pleads, phone between his shoulder and ear as he folds a sweatshirt into his suitcase._

_Evelyn scoffs on the other end of the line. “As if I would do somethin’ like that. I have no clue where that idea is comin’ from.”_

_Louis looks to Zayn, who’s meticulously packing up Louis’ desk, rolling his eyes over his grandmother’s claim. “I’m just reminding you,” he says. “I want it to be a surprise. Harry doesn’t know.”_

_“I reckon you’ve said this about twelve times already, sweetheart, I get it— what’s that? Oh, darling, speak of the devil, I’ve ought to go,” Evelyn laughs into the phone. “Harry’s here. Ain’t that funny?”_

_“Nana,” Louis warns, stilling his hands on top of his pile of sweatshirts._

_“Oh, I_ know _. I’ll talk to you later, darling,” Evelyn dismisses, and Louis groans internally as he lifts his head and lets his phone fall from his shoulder._

_“Your grandma sounds so sweet,” Gigi coos from where she’s sitting on Louis’ bedroom floor, working on putting together another suitcase of his. Even with the short amount of time he’s gotten to know Gigi, he’s come to adore her. Considering the way she’s managed to sweep Zayn off of his feet, Louis can’t say he’s surprised that she’s as lovely as she is._

_“She gets a little too excited over things sometimes,” Louis shakes his head. Especially when these things come to Louis._

_“You’re going to have to take a picture of his face,” Gigi points, nodding her head. “Better yet, even a video. It’s going to be a_ movie _moment. How romantic is this?” She laughs, turning towards Zayn with an excited grin. If those words came out of Louis’ mouth, Zayn surely would have rolled his eyes and barfed, but the happy and agreeable look that he gives Gigi in return is so blinding that it makes_ Louis _want to gag._

_Regardless, it’s relieving to know that neither of them truly think he’s crazy for doing this. Zayn claims he’d follow Gigi across the world even after their short time together, and Gigi seems as if the gesture is more exciting than all of the romances she’s seen on television._

_As long as Harry doesn’t think Louis is out of his mind, he should be okay._

Getting to the ranch without having Harry notice serves to be a challenge. Even on his days off, he frequents the ranch to give Cliff and Evelyn some company; whether he’s enjoying a meal with them, playing a card game with Evelyn, or going on an errand with Cliff, he’s always welcomed. And if he’s not with Louis’ grandparents, he’s coming over unexpectedly to spend some time with Winnie. 

At least Louis never has to worry about Harry being accepted into their family. 

Which is exactly the reason why it proves difficult to keep Harry away from the ranch. In fact, it took Evelyn three tries and a lie to make sure Harry wouldn’t be coming around. Even after telling Harry that they were having a technician over to work on their heating, the man was almost a little offended that Evelyn seemed to instigate that they didn’t trust Harry to fix their heating. It took Evelyn quite a bit to explain that, _no_ , Harry does way too much for them, he deserves a day off with his friends. 

A part of Louis knows it would be much easier just to let Harry know that he’s moving back, but one: he’s a little nervous of Harry’s reaction, and two: _maybe_ Gigi has gotten into his head with her whole movie moments thing. He’s a writer, alright? Of course he’s very fond of romance and clichés. 

He hasn’t brought too much with him yet, just a bit more than what he brought a few months earlier, mainly in his weariness of the situation. The rest of his life in New York sits in boxes in the corner of his (?) and Zayn’s apartment, waiting patiently for their fate. 

Luckily enough, by the time Louis gets to his grandparents’ place, Harry’s properly taken the day off and is nowhere to be seen on the ranch. 

“I reckon we’ve seen you more in the past five months than we’ve seen you in the past five years,” Cliff teases him when they’re dragging Louis’ bags back into the familiar guest room. “I’m happy for you, Lou. Both of y’all,” his grandfather smiles.

“Gonna jinx us, Pops. He doesn’t even know I’m back yet,” Louis shakes his head, dropping his suitcase on the bed.

Cliff tsks from the doorway, carrying in another bag. “He’ll be over the moon when he sees you. I know you’re not tellin’ yourself otherwise,” he raises an eyebrow.

Louis sighs, brushing his fringe away from his face. “I don’t want him to think I’m moving too fast,” he admits. “It’s sort of crazy, isn’t it? I just packed up my whole life and he doesn’t even _know_ that. He could think I’m insane.”

“You really haven’t seen the way he looks at you,” Cliff shakes his finger towards his grandson. “Reckon I looked at your grandmother the exact same way— still do, of course. But it’s always so different when you’re young, ain’t it?” He smiles, and Louis can’t help but smile too. Just the comparison of his relationship to one of his favorite pair of people in the world— the couple he’s always looked up to, the couple who’s always done nothing but provide him with love and support all these years, is enough to make his heart bloom with pride.

“In fact,” Cliff continues, chuckling at the sight of the bedazzled cowboy hat that remains on the nightstand. Harry never picked it back up, Louis guesses, even with the amount of time they had spent in Louis’ bedroom since then. He supposes Harry never bothered to grab it since the summer ended either. “If you went and suggested gettin’ married, I’m sure he’d be trippin’ over his feet tryin’ to find a ring,” he teases. “I don’t care how crazy you think you are, Lou— Harry’s right there with you.”

Louis rolls his eyes lightly, though he can’t deny that his grandfather’s words have put him a little more at ease. Harry’s _just_ as crazy as he is. It’s time for his movie moment, he thinks. “Thanks, Pops,” he murmurs, hooking an arm around his grandfather’s side and leaning against the man.

“Just tellin’ you the truth,” Cliff promises, squeezing Louis’ shoulder once before he pats his hand a few times against Louis’ back. “Now, let’s get unpackin’, alright? I don’t know how much longer we’re goin’ to be able to keep Harry off the farm. It’s a miracle we got him to leave for this long!” Cliff rolls his eyes. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Harry only manages to stay away from the farm for a day. As Louis’ grandfather said, it’s a miracle he even lasted that long, but it’s enough to get Louis semi-unpacked and for him to come up with an idea for how to tell Harry.

His plan is almost ruined when Louis wakes up to the sound of a familiar little bleat outside his window.

 _Winnie_. 

The realization is enough to get Louis to shoot upright in bed, stumbling over the sheets tangled between his legs as he tries to get out of bed in time. 

“Girl, what in the world are you goin’ on about?” 

At the sound of Harry’s voice in the distance, Louis can’t even do anything more than sneak a peek at the little sheep that’s jumping up excitedly outside the windows. _Of course_ Winnie is going to be the one to ruin his plans again. As much as he loves her, and as much as he’d love to scoop her up and give her a long awaited hug, _now_ is not the time. She’s going to have to wait for a cuddle.

“There’s nothin’ over there. C’mere, you goof,” Harry huffs from outside the ranch, voice sounding closer by the second. 

“Fuck,” Louis curses, scrambling to grab a pair of sweatpants and tugging them over his legs, rushing towards the bedroom door and slipping out of the room quicker than he could comprehend. Between literally jumping out of bed and running out of his room, the pace of his actions catch up with him then, leaving Louis bracing himself against the other side of the wooden door, chest heaving. 

From here, he can hear Harry refer to Winnie, saying: “See, girl? Nothin’ in the window. You’re gonna wake up Evelyn— calm your hooves.” 

“Nana!” Louis whines. If Winnie hasn’t woken Evelyn up already, he surely will. Marching down the hallway to his grandparents’ room, he doesn’t hesitate a moment before opening the door. Peeking inside, he barely gets a chance to realize that neither Cliff nor Evelyn is in the room before he catches a glimpse of Harry’s cowboy hat in the window, immediately slamming the door shut and almost tripping over Stella in the hallway from the force of it. 

“What in the Heavens are you doin’?” Evelyn calls from the kitchen, having surely heard the door slam if nothing else. 

Groaning, Louis scoops Stella up into his arms, peppering kisses to her little face in an attempt of an apology. He can only hope that she understands the dilemma he’s in right now and can forgive him. Louis’ feet come down heavy against the wooden flooring as he stomps into the kitchen. 

Cliff immediately raises his gaze from his newspaper, pausing mid-sip of his coffee when he takes in the image of his huffing grandson in the entranceway. “Now, what are you draggin’ poor Stella into?” His grandfather tsks, frowning at the innocent cat currently bundled up against Louis’ chest. 

“He’s outside my window,” Louis huffs, shifting Stella to be held with his one arm and dramatically pointing in the direction of his bedroom. 

Evelyn frowns. “Who’s outside your bedroom, dear?” 

Louis sighs, waving his arm frantically. “My _boyfriend_ ,” he complains. “My dumb boyfriend who doesn’t even _know_ I’m here.” 

“Sounds like a great way to tell ‘im,” Cliff decides, getting up and taking Stella away from Louis. “You poor baby,” he coos, petting over the small cat’s head, and Louis narrows his eyes. 

“She’s fine,” Louis mumbles, as if he’d ever let himself harm Stella. He deliberately doesn’t think about the way he almost tripped over Stella moments prior. It wasn’t his fault that she was walking in his path of destruction. He gave her kisses afterwards— she’s _fine_. 

Louis, on the other hand, is _not_ fine. And he’s not anything close to being okay when there’s a knock on the door seconds later. The color wipes from his face almost instantly, looking to his grandparents in horror. 

“My Lord, Louis. Go get yourself dressed. Givin’ you five minutes to pull yourself together,” Evelyn threatens, pointing a finger at her grandson. 

Louis stares at her in horror, jaw hanging as he watches her place her coffee down, making her way towards the front door. He has the urge to go run and block the door, but there’s a part of him that knows that’ll be even more humiliating than how he feels right now. So, against his will, he’s scrambling back into his bedroom, wondering how in the world he’s going to be able to look presentable in five minutes. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to say.

Part of him is about ready to search up flights back to New York. Fuck anything negative he said about long distance. 

Then again, Zayn will _never_ let him live this down. 

As predicted, Evelyn opens the door to a sheepish Harry, Winnie chewing on the peonies lining the porch. 

“I’m sorry, g’mornin’— I didn’t mean to wake y’all. Winnie got a little too crazy by the windows,” Harry says, glancing back towards Winnie and frowning when he catches her nibbling on the petals. “ _Winfred_ ,” he hisses lightly, snapping his fingers at the young sheep. She doesn’t even flinch at the sharp noise.

Evelyn frowns, sighing at the inevitable fate of her peonies. “Oh, love,” she muses, shaking her head. “C’mon inside. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Oh— no, Eve, I’m quite alright. I should—” he motions back towards Winnie.

Evelyn shakes her head. “The flowers will be fine,” she sighs, eyes lingering on the sheep as if it pains her to turn a blind eye towards it. “I’ll make you some tea,” she says. 

For what feels like the first time, there’s an off ambience in the house. Not necessarily uncomfortable, but almost as if Harry’s walked in on something that he shouldn’t have.

Cliff clears his throat, stroking his fingers over Stella’s fur. 

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Evelyn beats him to it, placing her hands on her hips as she spins around to face him. “You said Winnie was gettin’ a little crazy by the window?” She questions. 

Harry nods his head. “Yeah. Lou’s— the guest bedroom,” he corrects himself, scratching the back of his neck. “I reckoned she woke you up, is all.”

“You know,” Evelyn hums thoughtfully, shaking her finger. “I noticed there was a draft in that room after the man who worked on our heating system left yesterday. I reckon he did something and Winnie caught it. Animals are smart, y’know.”

Harry frowns. “I woulda done that for you, Eve. Don’t know why you had some stranger workin’ on your heating,” he argues. 

Evelyn rolls her eyes, waving Harry off. “Don’t you go blamin’ me,” she laughs. 

“If you had me doin’ it in the first place, you wouldn’t be havin’ this issue,” Harry says petulantly. Evelyn rolls her eyes in reply, motioning the cowboy to follow her into the hallway. 

“You can come fix it now, how about that? Enough of your poutin’. I don’t need that negative energy on my ranch,” she complains. The bedroom is empty and the bed is made when she opens the door, and for the most part, it looks the same as Louis left it at the end of the summer. Although he and Cliff had unpacked a few things the day before, it’s nothing that shouts: _Louis’ here!_

So it’s unsurprising when Harry walks in without a second glance around the room.

“Believe it or not, Eve, I coulda had the whole house fixed in a few hours for ya,” Harry frowns, getting onto the floor in front of the vent. It’s then that Louis is sneaking towards his bedroom from the bathroom, peering in from the hallway just enough that he’s still blocked from view behind Evelyn. He’s dressed (in a t-shirt and joggers, with fluffy socks on his feet nonetheless) and he’s managed to get his hair to look like he hadn’t just been woken up by Winnie a few minutes ago. It’s not his best look, he’ll admit, but he’s confident enough that he’s not going to scare Harry off.

“What did I say ‘bout that negative energy?” Evelyn tsks, and Louis has to stop himself from giggling at the way Harry’s rolling his eyes to himself, clearly annoyed with the way Evelyn’s making him fix something that he could’ve had done properly in the first place.

Something that never even happened to begin with, Louis notes. 

“Y’know,” Evelyn starts once Harry’s managed to get the cover to the vent off, the young man coughing from the dust. If that doesn’t show him that there wasn’t any sort of heating technician working on the vents yesterday, Louis doesn’t know what will. “I reckon it’s _not_ the vent. Must be a draft in the window,” she frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Harry stares at her, red faced from all the coughing. “Eve, really not tryin’ to be rude here, but I’m pretty certain you’re insane,” Harry says, grumbling as he pushes himself off of the floor and sulks towards the large windows. His back is tense, and Louis can tell that he’s about to pop an artery if Evelyn tells him that no, it’s actually the other window, in the next few minutes.

Naturally, he’ll do it himself. 

“Actually,” Louis hums, leaning against the door frame. “I think it’s the _other_ window. S’kind of chilly.”

The way Harry spins around at the sound of Louis’ voice is completely comical, his expression going from perplexed to in awe to ecstatic in a matter of seconds. “What in the—” Harry laughs, and the next thing Louis knows is he’s being swept off of his feet, familiar arms wrapped tightly around his middle. He doesn’t hesitate for a second before he’s wrapping his legs around Harry, holding onto him tightly as he’s spun around. Harry’s laughing into his neck, and Louis can feel the shape of Harry’s smile press into his skin. 

“Where did you come from?” Harry laughs, finally setting Louis down on his feet. Stumbling over each other’s feet, Louis can’t wipe the smile off of his face as he hooks his arms around Harry’s waist, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. 

“New York.” Louis answers cheekily, and Harry barks out a laugh at that, large hands coming up to cup Louis’ face as he stares down at him in nothing but ecstatic disbelief. Louis knows the feeling, he thinks. 

As much as the worry that Harry’s going to think he’s insane is still sitting there in the back of his mind, there’s a relief in the way that Harry’s staring down at him. It’s ridiculous, it’s silly, but immediately, Louis doesn’t regret his plane ticket here. He doesn’t regret the suitcase hidden underneath his bed, doesn’t regret the way Harry’s looking at him like he’s been gifted the universe. 

“You’re so—” Harry shakes his head, interrupting his own train of thought as he kisses Louis. The feeling of Harry’s lips on his own is something he’s realized he’s missed more than anything. How stupid was he to think he could’ve lasted this long without kissing Harry? 

“Breakfast will be waitin’ for you both when you’re ready,” Evelyn’s voice reminds Louis of her presence a few seconds later, and he giggles as he pulls away from the kiss, turning his head towards his grandmother to respond. She just shakes her head knowingly, waving her grandson off as she shuts the door on her way out of the room.

“You’re tellin’ me you were ignorin’ my texts not because you were in some hotshot author meetin’ but because you were on a flight here?” Harry’s raising an eyebrow at him, hands still cradling Louis’ face. Louis can’t even pretend to be offended by Harry’s accusation (it’s true anyway), instead nodding his head in response. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Harry laughs. 

Louis rolls his eyes, grinning. “Surprise?” 

“Winnie— Winnie was goin’ crazy by the window,” Harry says after a beat, laughing as he holds Louis closer. “She could tell you were home. Here I thought she was just bein’ crazy.”

“Yeah, and she woke me up. Couldn’t even enjoy a morning in. It’s like I was sleeping with you all over again,” Louis teases, rolling his eyes as he easily recalls the mornings Harry would be tumbling out of bed before the sun even bothered to rise. In reality, it wouldn’t have been so much of an issue had Harry refrained from knocking his foot into Louis’ bedpost every morning without fail. No, instead Louis started his mornings by waking up to the sound of Harry cursing and banging around his bedroom. 

Even as awful as it can be, Louis’ stomach churns at the fact that, _yeah_ , he might be waking up to that again. 

“Like you weren’t up at three in the mornin’ anyway,” Harry tuts back. Fair enough point, Louis thinks, but in his defense, at least he wasn’t the one making a ruckus. Harry could at least sleep through the majority of times Louis got out of bed. 

“Won’t be anymore,” Louis rolls his eyes, though he’s not too sure how true that is. Sure, he doesn’t have the impending reminder to finish his book, nor does he have anything in the works currently, but he’s sure that if he gets an idea in the middle of the night, he’s going to rush to write it down. His journal never strays too far from his bed anyway. 

“Not anymore, no. Baby’s gettin’ published,” Harry grins. 

“Edited,” Louis corrects, laughing. “Won’t be printed for a while.”

“Thinkin’ I might have to outbuy your grandmother with how many copies I get,” Harry laughs, sliding his hands down to squeeze Louis’ shoulders. “Think we’ll be fightin’ for the title of your number one fan.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the idea, but he knows that Harry’s one hundred percent serious. There’s a part of him that’s very much aware that if he doesn’t intervene quick enough, Evelyn and Harry will be fighting tooth and nail to buy the most copies of his book. They’re completely and utterly ridiculous. 

“I was sort of thinking I could do all the editing from here,” Louis says after a second, when they’ve stopped giggling over whether or not Harry’ll beat his grandmother for the title. “I don’t have to be in New York for anything. There’s a publishing firm I could work with in Salt Lake if I need to, but there’s also Skype?” He reasons, tilting his head. 

Harry hums, mirroring the smaller boy and gently rubbing small circles into Louis’ shoulders with his thumbs. “So, you’re stayin’ for a few weeks?” He grins. 

Louis hums, considering the question for a moment. It’d be easy to tell Harry that he’s just staying for a few weeks and slowly introduce the idea of staying here for… well, as long as Harry will have him, really. But there’s a part of Louis that doesn’t want to carry his fear anymore, swallowing his pride as he glances up at Harry with a hopeful smile, hesitance laced around the corners. “Well,” he starts. “I sort of bought a one-way ticket here. Was planning on staying, if you’ll have me.” 

Harry’s smile spreads across his face then, and just by looking at him, Louis’ own cheeks hurt. “You’re fuckin’ with me,” he laughs, and before Louis can do anything, Harry’s tackling him into the mattress, arm hooked firmly around his waist. 

“No, but I could be,” Louis teases, playfully brushing his hands up Harry’s chest. It’s cheesy and silly, but Harry looks like he’s having the time of his life, and Louis really just wants to see Harry’s smile stay on his face for the rest of his life. 

“I’m so in love with you,” Harry groans, peppering kisses over Louis’ cheeks before finally landing on his lips. “Of course I’ll have you. I’d have you in any sense, Lou,” Harry’s mumbling through pecks to his lips, and Louis’ giggling against his mouth. There’s a relief that spreads throughout him then, though, and a part of it’s due to the fact that Harry’s just as ecstatic over the idea of Louis being here as Louis is, but another part of it is just having Harry’s lips on his own again. 

So, instead of speaking, Louis’ kissing back, lips moving eagerly against Harry’s as their tongues collide with one another’s. It’s slow and sweet at first, Louis just trying to relearn Harry’s mouth from the month he’s been away. 

Somehow, the kiss transforms into something a little less silly and a little more heated, and Louis’ the one to reluctantly pull away, bracing his hands against Harry’s chest between them. “Aren’t you hungry? Breakfast’s waiting,” he laughs, tilting his head back as Harry drags his lips over the column of Louis’ throat. Now, maybe breakfast can wait a while.

“Sort of hungry for somethin’ else, if I’m bein’ honest,” Harry smirks, biting lightly at the boy’s skin, and Louis flushes. God, he missed this so much.

He missed Harry so much. He’s not sure how he ever managed to leave in the first place. Never again, he thinks. The cowboy’s stuck with him after this. 

“Harry,” he warns, taking one last attempt at keeping some self-control. The last thing he wants is for his grandparents to be listening to their little homecoming celebration in Louis’ bedroom. His face heats with humiliation just from the thought of it. 

“Think Evelyn would’ve left the door open if she cared so much about us makin’ it for breakfast,” Harry teases as if he could read the thoughts pulsing through Louis’ head. 

Louis groans. He hates that he’s right. In the meantime, he’s going to try to convince himself that he’s not going to Hell for this.

And for the million other times he and Harry have had sex under his grandparents’ roof over the summer. Maybe he should start going to Sunday mass with Evelyn. 

“Fuck,” Louis huffs out, tilting his head back as Harry continues to drag his teeth over his skin. 

He thinks he should just accept the fact that he’s going to Hell. Embrace it, even. 

“You’re going to drive me insane,” Louis laughs, breath hitching when Harry presses his hips down against Louis’. Unsurprisingly, Harry’s hard already, and it only takes one shift of Harry’s hips against his cock for Louis to succumb to Harry’s plans. It’s been a month, alright? His own fingers and toys just aren’t cutting it anymore. Not when he has Harry with him. “This isn’t fair.”

“I’m about to get you off and you’re whinin’ about how life ain’t fair?” Harry mocks, voice vibrating against Louis’ throat. “Think you should be quiet. All talk for someone who doesn’t want their grandparents hearin’ them.”

Almost immediately at the reminder of his grandparents’ close proximity, Louis pushes his hands against Harry’s shoulders, squirming out from underneath Harry on the bed. He doesn’t have to look at Harry to know that he’s staring at him in confusion, eyebrows furrowed together as if he’s trying to figure out what just went wrong. Louis, on the other hand, doesn’t bother to elaborate, instead scrambles onto his feet and digs into the nightstand for a few seconds, stuffing his findings into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

“Baby,” Harry frowns, leaning over to grab at the retreating boy’s waist. “You alright? What did I—”

“Shhh,” Louis grins, twisting to grab at Harry’s wrist and tugging him off the bed and onto his feet. Harry’s eyebrows are still furrowed in the cutest way, and all Louis wants to do is kiss him.

 _Soon_ , he thinks to himself. 

“We don’t have all day, you know?” Louis tuts, dragging Harry towards the window and only letting go of his hand when he’s prying the window open. When he glances back at Harry, it’s evident on his face that he still doesn’t have the slightest clue of what’s going on. 

“What in the world are you doin’?” Harry laughs, raising an eyebrow. “I thought we were gonna— baby, you ain’t even got no shoes on!”

Looking down at his feet, Louis doesn’t even bother to argue. He doesn’t have shoes on, and honestly, he just doesn’t care. He’s on a mission. “You just gonna stand there? C’mon, Cowboy,” Louis grins, climbing out of the window with only a little bit of difficulty. It’s silly enough that it reminds him of the first morning he threw Harry out of his bedroom. Oh, the memories.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Harry laughs, but he’s blindly following Louis out the window anyway. Louis can tell Harry’s still a little perplexed but listening to Louis regardless, and honestly, Louis’ heart is swelling. 

“I’m fine,” Louis promises, grabbing a hold of Harry’s hand once again before he’s taking off across the farm, grass and clover tickling his bare feet as he drags Harry along. When he looks back at Harry, he looks even more confused than he did before but he’s giggling when he notices Louis’ eyes on him. Louis, of course, can’t hold back his own giggles, shaking his head as he drags Harry along the field.

He’s so fucking in love. 

“In the barn, in the barn,” Louis laughs when they finally reach the building, out of breath between the running and the giggling on their way over.

“Darlin’, you can’t be serious.” Harry raises an eyebrow, an incredulous smile spreading across his face when he finally catches on. _Took him long enough,_ Louis thinks. 

“Do I hear you complaining?” Louis asks, dragging Harry further inside and towards the wall, his free hand fishing out the lube he had stuck in his pocket before his beautiful idea of jumping out the window, waving it in Harry’s face teasingly. “‘Cause I’m plenty serious, actually.” He can’t say he’s ever imagined their homecoming to be like this, just about to fuck in a barn, but Louis doesn’t have to worry about being quiet with his grandparents down the hall, and for the most part, the barn is large enough that they won’t have any onlookers from the horses in the stables. Yeah, Louis’ definitely not going to try to think about that either. 

Harry stares at him in disbelief, hands making purchase on Louis’ waist. “I’m so fuckin’ in love with you,” he barks out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. Louis just grins. It really doesn’t surprise him that Harry’s into this.

“Hold on,” Harry laughs, letting go of Louis’ waist to grab the saddle blanket off of the wall and setting it on the floor. Louis raises an eyebrow, and when Harry looks back up at him, he’s grinning. “Can’t let you get hay burn,” he reasons. 

Louis’ stomach warms at the simple explanation, wondering for the millionth time how he got so lucky with the man that is Harry Styles. Giggling as he tosses the lube and rubber near Harry, he doesn’t hesitate a second before he’s allowing Harry to drag him down into his lap. He loosely wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, connecting their lips in an already passionate kiss. Only breaking the kiss and pulling back when he’s shoving Harry’s shirt up his abdomen, silently begging for the man to pull it off. When Harry gets the hint, Louis doesn’t wait to shrug his own shirt off in the process, tossing it somewhere to the side. 

“We’re having sex in a barn. Okay,” Louis speaks aloud to himself, giggling as Harry’s hands move to grab at his ass through his pants.

“No,” Harry grumbles, chasing Louis’ lips with a soft huff. “We’re makin’ love in a barn. Big difference, baby.”

Louis has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, letting Harry roll them over so his back is resting against the saddle blanket. Harry hovers over him then, hands resting on the blanket on each side of Louis’ head as he looks down at him. “Would like you to get on with it, lover boy,” Louis mocks.

Harry laughs loudly, nose scrunching up as he leans back, moving his hands down to Louis’ waist. “Impatient as alway,” he teases, and this time, Louis doesn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Y’know, as much as I loved gettin’ a daily picture of your ass,” Harry mumbles a few seconds later, hooking his thumbs underneath the waistband of Louis’ joggers and boxers and tugging them down slowly without any hesitation. “Reckon I’d trade ‘em for the real deal any day,” he promises, tossing the clothing to the side and leaving Louis bare underneath him.

Louis would definitely agree with that. There’s only so much that a picture of Harry’s cock is going to do for him. 

“So fuckin’ pretty,” Harry mumbles, wasting no moment before he’s attaching his lips to every inch of skin on Louis’ chest, hand snaking down to wrap around Louis’ cock. Louis mewls at the feeling, tipping his head back and arching into it. 

“Please,” Louis breathes out shakily, Harry’s hand stroking the length of his cock as he mouths at the smaller boy’s nipple. Fortunately, Harry seems to get the hint, biting down against Louis’ collarbone before he’s pulling away, his hand dropping to trace his fingers over the crease of Louis’ bum instead.

“On your knees, baby. Let me see that pretty hole of yours,” Harry taps his hip, firm hands fitting over his waist in an attempt to help Louis shift onto his knees. There’s something both equally humiliating and exhilarating about being on his hands and knees in the middle of a barn, Louis thinks.

“Missed this,” he hears Harry mumble, large hands resting on the cheeks of his bum and spreading them open. Louis groans, ducking his head just from being on display for Harry. Harry’s dipping the tip of his thumb past his dry rim a second later, and Louis feels like he could cry.

When Harry’s tongue finally swipes over his hole, Louis stifles a choked whine, trying his hardest to refrain from pushing his ass back against Harry’s face. It’s a lot more difficult as Harry continues to lick, his warm, wet tongue swiping all over Louis’ hole. Harry’s facial hair scratches the skin of Louis’ ass, and Louis can’t even comprehend how hot it feels. 

It’s been way too fucking long since he’s had Harry eat him out. Louis’ hands are fisting over the quilted saddle blanket, cock hanging heavy between his legs as Harry drags his tongue flat against his opening again and again. It’s not surprising when Louis starts whimpering out sobs and rocking his hips back against Harry’s tongue only seconds later, especially not when Harry’s tongue coaxes the rim of his hole, pushing the tip inside. 

“Oh my, God,” Louis sobs as Harry licks him hard, the sound of Harry’s tongue and mouth working over his hole driving him insane. It’s filthy between the groans Harry’s letting out as he fucks his tongue in and out of the boy passionately at a pace he usually saves for when his cock is inside of him, and the slurping sounds of Harry’s mouth as he sucks and licks over the rim of Louis’ hole. He’s not sure anything could ruin the moment with how great he feels, eyelashes sticking together from tears. 

_Baaaa._

Louis’ eyes go comically wide at the same time Harry’s neck snaps sideways and away from Louis’ ass, both of their eyes landing on Winnie at the entrance of the barn. As if it wasn’t enough that there were horses only feet away, now Winnie’s getting an eyeful. In Louis’ dramatic opinion, this is almost as bad as having his grandparents walk in on them. It might even be worse.

“ _Winfred_ ,” Harry laughs, floundering to get up as Winnie prances her way over. “Oh, fuck. No— I’m sorry, baby. I know we’re all very excited to see Louis right now, but this ain’t for your eyes,” Harry apologizes as he scoops her up, trying not to stumble over his own two feet. Louis doesn’t know if he’s mortified or endeared at the moment. 

No, he’s mostly mortified. He’s very much mortified.

“I’ll make it up to ya, girl, I promise,” Harry pouts, reluctantly placing her outside the barn and sliding the barn door shut before Winnie can sneak back in. From the way Harry takes a moment to just stare at the door, shoulders slightly tense, Louis can tell that he’s not feeling very great about having practically slammed the door in Winnie’s face.

“We’re horrible people,” Louis lets out a surprised noise, covering his mouth as he stares at the closed barn door. Shifting onto a sitting position on the blanket, Louis tries his hardest to ignore the way his ass is wet with Harry’s saliva. God fucking damn it. 

Harry groans, running a hand through his hair as he makes his way back towards Louis. “She’ll forget about it. She’ll find some flowers to chew on or somethin’,” he insists, sounding like he’s trying to reassure himself more than anybody else, and then he pauses. “God, we’re terrible parents.”

Louis feels hysterical as he laughs, reaching his hands up to cup Harry’s face, trying to bring him back. “She’ll— she’ll forget about it. Sheep don’t have an understanding of this… I’m sure,” he mumbles, laughing nervously as he nudges his nose against Harry’s. 

Harry shakes his head in disbelief, looking a little shocked out of his head. “I’m never goin’ to forget ‘bout this,” he groans, and Louis squints in offense.

“You’re not the one who had their ass out,” Louis smacks the back of his hand against Harry’s chest, snapping the cowboy out of it. Harry laughs in surprise, hand coming up to rub over Louis’ thigh in what he guesses is supposed to be soothing. It is, nonetheless. Harry’s touch is always soothing. When it’s not making his body feel like it’s on fire with want, of course. 

“I think I was sort of blockin’ you,” Harry argues, but Louis is done thinking about what Winnie did or didn’t see. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Louis grumbles, sliding his hand over the back of Harry’s neck and tugging him closer. “Rather just let you fuck that thought out of my head right now.”

Harry grins, and Louis knows he’s going to hate the words that come out of his mouth next.

“Not fuckin’, baby, it’s makin’ love,” Harry says right on cue, laying Louis back down on the saddle blanket, reaching for the lube Louis had thrown around earlier.

“Wish you would make love faster, then,” Louis sighs, grabbing the lube before Harry gets a chance to, impatiently handing it towards the man. Harry just gives him a silly smile, not at all bothered by the boy’s impatience.

“Good things come to those who wait,” Harry reminds lightly, slicking up his fingers and settling himself in between Louis’ legs. 

“I hope it’s cock,” Louis mumbles.

“Y’know,” Harry laughs, narrowing his eyes down at his boyfriend playfully as he pushes a first finger past Louis’ rim. Louis clenches down on it almost instantly, groaning as he finally gets what he wants. “You were a lot less mouthy when I had my mouth on you.”

“Things change,” Louis hums reasonably, closing his eyes. As much as he’s happy with having Harry’s finger inside of him, he can’t help but think that two would be so much better.

Fortunately, for what feels like the first time, Harry gets the hint and slides a second finger inside, Louis’ hole stretched tight around the digits. 

“Fuck,” Louis whimpers, hitching his thigh up as Harry slowly makes work of his fingers inside of him. It’s then that he’s grabbing at Harry’s shoulder, pulling him down and kissing him, gasping into Harry’s mouth when the man crooks his fingers just right. It’s enough that Louis starts grinding his hips against Harry’s, the man’s denim rough against his skin and honestly, it feels just as good as it hurts. 

By the time Harry’s squeezing a third finger inside, Louis really doesn’t want to wait any longer. He’s moaning into Harry’s mouth, the curly haired man mumbling sweet words against his lips in response as Louis squirms underneath him. It’s enough that Louis feels like he’s going to cry again, nimble fingers tightening around the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck.

“I’m good, I’m good. _Please_ ,” Louis whines when Harry tries to squirm a fourth finger inside, attempting to pull his hips away from Harry in result. He loses the friction of Harry’s hips on his own, though, and he’s not too happy about that.

“Okay, baby,” Harry breathes, planting one last kiss on Louis’ lips before he’s reluctantly pulling his fingers out of Louis, leaving the boy cold and empty, leaving Louis wanting nothing more than something back inside of him. But he makes quick work of getting his shoes and jeans off, for once not taking his sweet time. Louis doesn’t think he has the capacity to handle being teased right now. 

Harry’s quick to roll the condom over his cock, and while Louis considers letting Harry fuck him without, he really doesn’t feel like walking back to the house with Harry’s come dripping out of his ass. He lubes himself up just as quickly, and before he knows it, he’s hovering back over Louis with a goofy grin, tracing his fingers over Louis’ jawline.

“Can’t believe you’re here,” Harry murmurs, voice soft and low, sounding as if he’s struggling to wrap his head around the fact that Louis’ here to stay. The look of fondness that Harry gives him makes Louis’ stomach flip with butterflies, cheeks pink as he meets Harry’s gaze.

“Don’t want to be anywhere else,” Louis whispers. For now, he just wants to stay in their little corner of the world. It’s enough, and they’ll figure everything else out along the way.

Harry shakes his head, leaning down to kiss Louis briefly before bending Louis’ leg over his hip and pushing himself into the smaller boy. Louis gasps at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut as he finally gets what he’s been waiting for. 

Good things _do_ come to those who wait, he supposes. Cock, too. 

Harry pushes in slowly, giving Louis the time to get used to his cock inch by inch. It’s a lot to handle, even after weeks of having nothing to work with besides his fingers and favorite toys. Nothing is ever going to compare to the feeling of Harry inside him, though, that’s for sure. 

Louis digs his fingernails Harry’s shoulders, letting out quiet noises of both pain and pleasure. He’s grateful for the little bit of time Harry stays still when he’s finally bottomed out, the man kissing gently over his face. His body feels a little shakier than normal, not because of the size of Harry’s cock exactly, but because Louis’ finally wrapping his head over the notion that he’s here to stay with his favorite person in the world. 

Taking in a shaky breath, Louis tips his head up to brush his lips against Harry’s. “I love you,” he murmurs, fingers trailing up to find purchase in Harry’s hair once again, swallowing thickly as his nose skims against Harry. “I’m okay,” he decides after a second, nodding his head.

Harry smiles against the boy’s lips, kissing him sweetly in return before his hand soothes over Louis’ side, taking a hold of his hip. “Alright, baby,” he murmurs.

The first thrust of Harry’s hips is enough to knock the breath out of Louis, fingers tightening in Harry’s hair as he wraps his legs around the man properly, focusing on the sole feeling of Harry’s cock moving inside of him. 

“God. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” Harry groans, dipping his head down to press his lips against the heated skin of Louis’ neck, picking up his pace quickly as Louis’ moans grow louder. 

“Gonna kill me with the sappiness,” Louis breathes, whimpering as Harry’s cock drives inside of him and crossing his ankles just above Harry’s ass, his body jostling on the small blanket with every thrust. 

“S’called makin’ love for a reason, baby,” Harry grins against his jawline, cock nailing the boy’s prostate on a particularly hard thrust. Louis’ moan catches in his throat, eyes welling with tears as Harry repeatedly aims for his prostate. “Supposed to be lovin’ you up,” he mumbles, moaning as Louis clenches around him. 

He doesn’t know if it’s because of Harry’s stupid way of making him feel so, so loved, or if it’s the fact that he hasn’t had Harry’s cock inside of him for weeks, but Louis knows then that there’s no way he’s going to be able to last. Harry’s cock drags in and out of him relentlessly, his ankles bouncing where they’re resting on the small of Harry’s back with every thrust.

Harry must realize it too, or maybe he’s just as close as Louis is, because he’s squirming the hand that isn’t holding tight on Louis’ hip between them, his large hand and long fingers wrapping around the smaller boy’s cock, pulling it off in time with his thrusts.

Louis’ way too busy getting fucked across the barn floor to care that he’s close, eyes rolling to the back of his head every time the head of Harry’s cock meets his prostate. “Please,” he whimpers, not even knowing what exactly it is he’s asking for. 

His orgasm takes over him in a full body shudder, crying out loudly as his cock comes all over Harry’s hand and his belly, eyes shutting from the intensity of it all. Harry’s murmuring soft words to him, he can hear them faintly, but he’s barely with it enough to notice what Harry’s saying. Fortunately, with the feeling of Louis clenching hard around him, it’s only seconds before Harry’s grunting into Louis’ neck and coming into the condom, hips stuttering as his orgasm washes over him.

Louis doesn’t know how long it is that they’re laying there, breathless and tied up with one another. Harry’s face is buried into his neck, arm wrapped tightly around Louis’ waist as he breathes heavily against his skin. It’s grounding, though, and Louis quietly strokes his fingers through Harry’s hair as he recovers from his orgasm.

Within a few moments of not moving, though, Harry’s cock twitches inside of Louis, and it’s enough for Louis to start pushing at Harry’s shoulders, encouraging him to pull out before he grows hard _again_. 

As much as Louis would love to have his brains fucked out, they _really_ should go have breakfast. 

“M’goin’,” Harry huffs lightly, kissing Louis’ cheek before he fulfills his promise, pulling out and starting to clean up. Louis barely notices that Harry’s cleaned him up too until Harry’s helping him onto his feet, legs feeling just like jello as he pulls on his clothes again. He fixes his fringe hopelessly, hoping it looks a lot more like morning bedhead than sex hair. 

On the way back to the house, Harry’s hand laced tightly with his own, they find Winnie nibbling on his grandmother’s peonies yet again. She doesn’t seem to hold any grudges when she catches sight of the pair though, cheerfully chasing them down and trotting around them happily. They both pepper her with millions of kisses to relieve any mental trauma from earlier. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were comin’ back,” Harry complains once they’re stepping in the doorway, once again feeling a little bothered that he’d been left out of the know. 

“How many times do I have to tell you it was supposed to be a surprise? A romantic movie moment,” Louis pouts, laughing softly as he shoves his hands against the cowboy’s side. They’re just about to round the corner when they pass Evelyn and Cliff still sitting in the kitchen.

Louis stops in his tracks when he realizes that they just came through the front door. After exiting via the window. _Shit._

His grandparents seem to notice the fact at the same exact time, as Louis’ met with two pairs of eyebrows raised towards them. If Stella had eyebrows, he’s certain it would be three.

“Where did you two come from?” Cliff’s brave enough to ask the question, and Louis can’t believe they’re this _stupid_. 

Louis’ face goes bright red, and when he looks to Harry nervously, the cowboy looks like he’s had all of his thoughts knocked out of him, fishmouthing for words that aren’t there.

Naturally, Louis decides to flee.

“I’m not hungry!” He blurts out, moving behind Harry and trying to get him to budge and move down the hallway.

“Louis, darlin’, you’ve got hay in your hair,” Evelyn says, struggling not to laugh over the rim of her coffee mug. 

As if Louis couldn’t be more embarrassed, his hand flies up to his hair, shaking it out, loose pieces of hay fall to the floor. Harry, the traitor, barks out a laugh at that.

“Oh my god,” Louis whines, shoving Harry hard before he finally budges, the two of them bolting out of the hallway and down the hall.

It takes Louis a few hours to be coaxed out of his room again, grumbling over the fact that Harry let him walk around with _hay_ in his hair for everyone to see. 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

_—— the following autumn_

“I’ve got an interview in a bit,” Louis reminds Harry when the cowboy steps into the kitchen, the glass door sliding shut behind him. Outside on the porch where Harry came from sits his grandparents, Stella, Zayn and Gigi, the latter pair having finally made their way to Jackson. It’s been one week since Louis’ book was internationally published, shooting immediately to number one on the New York Times Best Seller list. It’s something that Evelyn likes bragging about now that it’s happened a second time, and from the boxes containing dozens of copies of his books sat in the living room, she’s practically making a living off of getting Louis’ book around the whole state of Wyoming. 

Zayn and Gigi managed to score a month off for the fall to come and visit Louis. It was only five months ago that Gigi and Zayn announced that they were expecting, Gigi being seven months pregnant and glowing. Zayn’s been over the moon, excited and texting Louis about it almost constantly. Louis’ ecstatic for the both of them, and right now, he’s just so grateful to have his best friend here with him. 

“You think I don’t know your schedule?” Harry taunts, raising an eyebrow as he rounds the kitchen table that Louis’ turned into his makeshift office for the hour. Promo season always leaves him in disorganized messes. “The Times lady today, ain’t it?” 

Of course Harry knows his schedule; Harry’s an angel Louis never realized he needed. “In, like, ten minutes, yes,” he confirms when Harry’s arms come wrapping around his waist. 

“See? What did I tell ya? Reckon I could be your personal assistant by this point,” Harry teases, kissing the top of Louis’ head. 

“That could be us, you know,” Harry grumbles a few seconds later, hooking his chin over Louis’ shoulder. It takes Louis a second to realize what he’s referring to, blue eyes following Harry’s line of sight to where it lands on Gigi and Zayn sitting together on the porch swing, Gigi’s hand resting high on her swollen belly.

“You’re acting like Winnie isn’t enough for us to handle,” Louis teases, squirming out of Harry’s hold. 

Harry rolls his eyes, hands chasing Louis’ hips unsuccessfully. “I just feel like they’re mockin’ us. Tauntin’ me or somethin’.”

“Neither of them are mocking us,” Louis laughs, rolling his eyes at the absurdness of Harry’s statement. “I promise you, Zayn didn’t get Gigi pregnant to spite you, H.” In fact, they’re both well aware that Zayn hadn’t meant to get Gigi pregnant at all. The baby’s a happy surprise, and a surprise that both Zayn and Gigi are handling rather well and very excitedly. If Louis wasn’t in a dream relationship of his own, he’s sure he’d be gagging over how sweet and perfect the couple is. 

Harry frowns like he doesn’t quite believe it. “Just think about it. A _baby_ ,” Harry pouts.

Louis hums thoughtfully just for show. “A baby,” he repeats. 

“You’re sayin’ it all wrong, baby. You’ve oughta manifest it,” Harry grumbles, and Louis can’t do anything but giggle, pushing his hands against Harry’s chest in an attempt to get him away for real. 

“I have five minutes to prepare for this interview. Please go. Manifest somewhere else, thank you.” With a huff and a few kisses of good luck, Harry reluctantly steps back outside with some snacks. Even from inside the kitchen with the glass door shut, Louis can hear Harry asking Gigi if she’s comfortable and if she needs him to grab anything, Evelyn begging the cowboy through laughter to stop fretting and leave the poor woman alone.

By the time Louis’ gotten his notes sorted, his phone rings right on cue. It’s one of the least stressful interviews he’s ever had, he thinks. After getting the gist of what it was like to be a proper author during his last book, phone interviews are the least of his worries. There’s no camera, no audience, and fortunately for himself, it’ll be transcripted and published for his following and new fans to read. 

The interviewer, Marly, is sweet enough, a long-time journalist from the New York Times. A few years ago, Louis would certainly be sweating just from the mention of the New York Times, and although there’s still always going to be a part of him that’s nervous, he’s confident enough in his ability as a writer that one fucked interview won’t ruin him. 

Their conversation comes easy just like Louis expected from a New York Times journalist, and for the most part, Louis knows exactly what to say. She notes that his newest book, _Through the Wheatfields and the Coastlines_ , is a change in direction from where everyone expected him to go in comparison to his first book. The story follows two young men through the American West in the 1970s, traveling through the Grand Tetons and making sense of their feelings for one another. It’s an adventure laced with romance; a spin on _Brokeback Mountain_ had the protagonists not have succumbed to the normative of heterosexuality. It’s still a mystery, in the sense that Louis jokes that if the readers squints, there’s a reference to a murder in one of the scenes. He’s still in love with mystery and murder, he promises, and he knows that one of these days, he’ll get around to turning his first book into a series. He cheekily adds that there’s just something about cowboys that have managed to carve out another big piece of his heart. 

He goes on to explain how he struggled to come up with the story for a long time, how he spent the few months after his first published book worrying and obsessing over how he was going to reach the same level of success again. He spent months staring at the same city, trying to find new sources of inspiration. He adds that his mental block only lifted after buying a plane ticket to Wyoming on a moment of impulse. She laughs at the absurdity of the idea, and Louis doesn’t blame her. He tells her that his best friend told him he was crazy, and he admits that although Zayn was right, he wouldn’t have changed it for the world. 

Louis explains that the self-doubt over his writing never went away, and there were days he spent ripping his writing to shreds, and nights he spent worrying that he was going to put out the worst book in the world. The self-doubt doesn’t go away, and regardless of the nice reviews and messages of support, Louis still manages to convince himself that he doesn’t deserve any of it. It never goes away, but it does get easier to manage, he adds. Especially when he’s got a circle of supportive friends and family around him. 

“I know we’ve already touched upon the fact that this book is so much different than your last one,” Marly says, the faint sound of a pen scribbling against paper translating through the speaker as if she’s jotting notes down. “But what exactly was your inspiration for this one?”

Louis considers the question.

Wyoming in itself, Louis thinks, was a miracle worker for his novel. Between his first solo trip to the meadow and coming across Winnie and Harry for the first time, the sunrise at Pilot Butte, the endless adventures across the state Harry dragged him on, he’s not sure he could pinpoint one place that was more inspiring than the next. There’s a piece of him everywhere, he thinks. A piece of him will always be floating around Washington Square Park, another on his and Zayn’s shared balcony underneath messy canvases stained with acrylic and ink, one in his grandparents’ kitchen next to spilled flour on the counter, and another in the bed of Harry’s truck listening to _Rhinestone Cowboy_. 

Then there’s _Harry_. 

Harry, who came into his life and became so important as unexpectedly as their first meeting and how thinking about it, that first meeting was nothing more than a metaphor for their relationship, and even a year later, Louis’ still having the hardest time believing that _this_ is it. That somehow, he’s managed to catch the goofiest cowboy he’s ever met, with a smile as bright as the rhinestones on his silly cowboy hat, and a golden heart bigger than Louis can comprehend. 

He thinks of the first few summer nights he and Harry spent, giggling secrets into each others’ mouths. Louis felt like a teenager again, felt like he was on top of the world, felt like his stomach was going to spin out of his body whenever he saw Harry that first summer. He thinks of the days they’ve spent together since then, thinks of the TikToks he’s dragged Louis into filming. All the dinners he’s spent with Louis and his grandparents, ankles hooked together underneath the kitchen table. He thinks of how certain his grandfather had been over the way Harry looked at Louis, promising his grandson that the only person who was crazier for someone than Louis was for Harry was Harry for Louis. If nothing else, it was mutual. 

He thinks of the nights Harry’s spent in his bed after a long day of work in the field, the way Harry constantly wants to stay up and keep Louis company when Louis’ up and unable to sleep, his mind racing with thousands of words per second with nothing but an urge to scribble them all down as fast as he can. He never cares that he has to be up at the crack of dawn, doesn’t complain during any second of it. 

He thinks of Harry’s friends, how welcoming they all have been to Louis coming into their circle. How Kendall’s promised she’s never seen Harry happier with anyone else. He thinks of how Niall immediately placed a bet on Louis and Harry being the next couple in their group of friends to get hitched during Kendall and Kacey’s wedding only a month ago, the newly wedded couple placing their own bets on just how soon it would be. 

When he looks back out the sliding back doors at Harry then, the man is unsurprisingly fussing over Gigi on the porch, offering her what Louis guesses is a _third_ pillow. It takes Harry a second to notice Louis’ gaze on him, but the moment he does, he’s sending a blinding grin in Louis’ direction, allowing Louis to imagine the dimples that he just knows are there if he was closer to see. 

Harry points a finger towards him a few seconds later, and Louis raises an eyebrow silently, not about to scream out the window when he’s on the phone. Watching his hands, Harry shoots two exaggerated fingers at Louis again, then motions out what Louis assumes is supposed to be a pregnant belly, a mirror of Gigi’s beside him, before his hands are clasping together in a plea directed towards Louis. Louis’ cheeks tint pink at just how desperate Harry seems, how obsessed he’s been with babies and Gigi’s pregnant belly since the two have been here, and covers his eyes playfully as he reminds himself to focus on his interview. 

It takes him a second to string his thoughts together. 

“I was,” Louis finally responds, a bright smile on his face as he turns away from the sight on the porch. “I’m the storyline.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to leave a comment & kudos if you enjoyed!! i'll give you kisses in return!!!
> 
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> 
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